


Witching Hour

by Birdpeople (DeusExMachina)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (For Erica), (For Isaac), (For Stiles :P), Epilepsy, Magical Stiles Stilinski, More tags to follow, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Witch Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4224006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeusExMachina/pseuds/Birdpeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I gave you a protective amulet for your birthday last year!”</p><p>“Yeah, I thought it was one of those hippy-dippy touristy things, like, ‘Wards off negative energy and cleanses your chakra’ or something.”</p><p>Stiles shrieked with laughter. “Well it does! Haven’t you noticed? It’s been working just fine, or it was until it ran out of charge and you wouldn’t-” Stiles stopped abruptly. “And you wouldn’t recharge it,” he finished quietly. “Jesus Christ, you thought I was kidding for the last four years when I told you I could do magic.”</p><p>Scott looked like he was struggling to breathe. Stiles knew that look. He had seen it many times over the course of their friendship. But no asthma attack came.</p><p>“What the fuck,” Scott finally whispered.<br/>---<br/>OR: The one where Stiles has been a witch for years, but Scott always thought he was joking, until Scott gets bitten and the supernatural becomes all too real for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Scott flinched and Stiles, taking advantage of his lapse of concentration, knocked his player off of the platform. He was halfway through gloating about winning their third Smash game in a row, when he glanced over at Scott, who looked pale and upset.

 

Stiles paused the game, rolling over onto his back and squirming up into a half-sitting position. “What’s up?”

 

Scott sighed gustily. “Nothing.”

 

“Mm, yeah, I’m definitely gonna believe that.” Stiles squinted at him. “Come to think of it, you’ve been acting weird all this week. What gives? Was your mom mad that you lost your inhaler or something?”

 

Scott shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I haven’t even needed it lately…”

 

Stiles pressed his lips together, eyes still narrowed, focusing unnervingly on Scott. “Why did you jump?”

 

“What?”

 

A minute ago, right before Kirby beat Marth to a pulp,” Stiles gestured to the frozen screen, “You jumped. What the hell is going on with you?”

 

“I heard a car door slam,” Scott admitted quietly.

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. And I mysteriously didn’t hear it or something?”

 

“No, that’s just it,” Scott said, springing up to pace. Stile sat up for real and watched Scott, a sense of anxiety settling over him. Scott wasn’t normally a pacer. Fidgeting like that tended to be more Stiles’ gig. This had to be serious. “I’ve been hearing things and smelling things ever since that night in the forest. Stuff that’s too quiet or faint for other people to make out, but it’s weird and I’m freaking out.”

 

Stiles chewed his lip as Scott gazed imploringly at him. “You said you were bitten. That night, in the woods.” Stiles spoke slowly, almost to himself.

 

Scott gestured impatiently. “Yeah, I _thought_ I was, but it must have been a weird hallucination or something, like the rest of this stuff.”

 

Stiles shifted to sit on his heels, running his fingers through his hair, thinking. “You only think it’s a hallucination because the bite marks are gone,” Stiles muttered.

 

“Yeah, I think that’s a pretty good indication-” but Stiles held up a hand.

 

“Just because it healed doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

 

Scott shuddered. “You don’t get it, man. That bite hurt like hell. It felt _deep_. There’s no way something like that healed in a few hours without even a scar.”

 

“Actually, there is a way.” Scott stared at Stiles, who, for once, looked deadly serious.

 

“If you say ‘werewolf’ one more time, I’m going to murder you.”

 

Stiles didn’t smile. “Well, why not? Just because there are no _wolves-_ ”

 

“Why _not?_ Why _not?_ Because _werewolves don’t exist!”_ Scott actually clutched at his hair in his agitation.

 

Stiles frowned at Scott. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

Scott gave a jagged laugh. “Don’t mess with me, Stiles. I honestly don’t think I can handle it right now.”

 

“I’m not messing with you, dude, I’m just confused.” Stiles patted the bed beside him and Scott sat down hard, staring at him.

 

“That makes two of us. Explain. What is it you think I know about werewolves?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “It’s not just werewolves, man, although we met one the other day-”

 

“What? When?” Scott’s weary disbelief was written all over his face. Uneasy feelings began to stir in Stiles’ chest. Scott wasn’t always the most perceptive, but dear god, how had he managed to miss this much?

 

“Derek Hale? In the woods? Dude’s a werewolf.”

 

Scott hummed, eyes glassy. “Yeah, I can definitely see where you’re coming from. That glare could curdle milk.”

 

“No, Scott, look at me. I’m not joking.” Scott’s eyes still had that weird, vagueness to them. “Derek. Is. A. Werewolf. C’mon man, why is this so hard for you? You’ve known magic was real since eighth grade.”

 

Scott snorted. “What, when you went through your weird fantasy phase? Crystals and shit?”

 

Stiles stared at Scott, wide-eyed. He rubbed his palms over his face, groaning. “Holy shit Scott, are you really this dumb?”

 

That seemed to shock Scott out of his daze. “Listen,” he snapped, “I told you about the weird shit that’s been going on with me. The least you could do is not make fun of me.”

 

“ _I’m not making fun of you, Scott_ ,” Stiles practically shouted. “Magic is real! That phase I went through wasn’t a phase! I thought you knew that. Dear god, I talk about it all the time! This morning I was late to first period because I was practicing binding spells last night and lost track of time and ended up sleeping late. I told you that!”

 

“I thought you were joking!”

 

“I gave you a protective amulet for your birthday last year!”

 

“Yeah, I thought it was one of those hippy-dippy touristy things, like, ‘Wards off negative energy and cleanses your chakra’ or something.”

 

Stiles shrieked with laughter. “Well it _does!_ Haven’t you noticed? It’s been working just fine, or it was until it ran out of charge and you wouldn’t-” Stiles stopped abruptly. “And you wouldn’t recharge it,” he finished quietly. “Jesus Christ, you thought I was kidding for the last four years when I told you I could do magic.”

 

Scott looked like he was struggling to breathe. Stiles knew that look. He had seen it many times over the course of their friendship. But no asthma attack came.

 

“What the fuck,” Scott finally whispered.

 

Stiles got up and rummaged through his bookcase, extracting a leather-bound journal and tossing it to Scott. “My dad gave me this on my thirteenth birthday. It was my mother’s journal. She also left me a couple of spell books, but I’m pretty sure the more advanced stuff is stored somewhere in the attic.”

 

Scott was flipping dazedly through the pages. Stiles knew what was in there. Diagrams and incantations, carefully pressed leaves and flowers, detailed drawings with tiny, clear labels.

 

Scott cleared his throat. “Prove it,” he said.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I don’t,” Scott dropped the book on the bed as if he couldn’t bear to hold it anymore. “I _can’t_ believe this.”

 

Stiles sighed, glancing around for something suitable to use. It would have to be flashy, something not too harmless, and something Scott couldn’t claim was fake. None of those things would be too tall an order for a trained witch, but there was a reason Stiles hadn’t started in on the more advanced spell books yet. At last, he held up a baseball.

 

“Watch,” he commanded, and Scott did.

 

He held out a hand, palm-up, holding the ball. He concentrated. He breathed. He sweated. He clenched his teeth. Ever so slowly, the baseball began to lighten until finally it lifted out of his hand to hang at eye-level like a tiny moon.

 

Scott bounded off the bed, crossing to him. Silently, he passed a hand underneath the floating baseball. He examined it from every side. At last, he plucked it out of the air. Stiles let out the breath he had been holding with a whoosh.

 

Scott seemed very calm as he regarded Stiles, tossing the baseball from one hand to the other. Stiles gave him a shaky grin. “So I guess we’re supernatural buddies, now,” he said.

 

“Sorry for calling you a liar,” Scott said quietly.

 

Stiles shrugged. “I’m sure I’ve implied worse about you in the course of our friendship. Water under the bridge.”

 

Scott nodded slowly. “So you think I’m a werewolf?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “It was full moon the night we went out there.”

 

Scott didn’t even bat an eye. “And you think that Derek guy did it?”

 

“No idea. I’d never actually met the guy before. Didn’t even realize there were any werewolves around here until I saw him.”

 

“And how could you… tell?”

 

Stiles screwed up his face. “Can’t really explain it. I just had the overwhelming sense that if I threw a stick, he’d definitely try to chase it.”

 

Scott laughed. “Right after disemboweling you, maybe.”

 

Stiles cracked his knuckles, grinning. “I bet I could take him.”

 

Scott hummed thoughtfully, eyes on the leather-bound journal still sitting on Stiles’ bed. “I feel like such an idiot. You really do talk about this stuff all the time.”

 

Stiles flapped a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I can see why it might be easier to think I’m joking than it would be to change your entire worldview. It was pretty hard for me, and I was actually _doing_ magic.”

 

Scott frowned, a thought having just occurred to him. “Do other people know about you?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “I think my dad suspects, but supernatural stuff hasn’t gotten me into trouble yet, so we don’t talk about it. So apart from you and him, no. And I’d rather it stayed that way, at least for now.”

 

“Same with,” Scott gestured helplessly, as if to encompass all of the stuff he had been going through.

 

Stiles nodded. “Totally got you, bro.”

 

“And you’re going to have to get me up to speed with all of this supernatural stuff,” Scott said, and edge of misery to his voice.

 

“No problemo. Just, y’know, maybe not tonight…”

 

“Yeah, of course.” Scott made for the door, his head spinning. “I think I’m going to go sleep on this.”

 

“One sec.” Stiles was down on his knees, dragging a cardboard box out from under his bed. It was full of crystals, sachets of herbs, amulets, and books. Stiles carefully selected a pendent, small and nearly round, with two concentric circles engraved in it. Holding it in his hand for a moment, he nodded decisively. Last charged in starlight on a moonless night. Silver. He handed it up to Scott, who gave him a quizzical look. “To stop you turning fluffy in your sleep,” Stiles explained. “Not sure how well it’ll work, but you can never be too careful, even when it’s not full moon.”

 

Scott accepted it, turning it over in his hands before hanging it around his neck. “Thanks.” He made for the door again. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

 

Stiles hesitated a moment longer before diving forward and catching Scott in a hug. “Don’t worry,” he said fiercely. “I’ve been dealing with this stuff for years. I can help you.” He released Scott, who looked inches away from crying. “Goodnight, man. It’ll all work out. Trust me. We’ll figure this out.”

 

Stiles followed Scott to the front door, watching Scott’s retreating back from the doorway. After some thought he yelled, “By the way, I’m bisexual, too!”

 

Scott turned around, and even in the darkness, Stiles could see his smirk. “Well yeah, _that_ was pretty obvious.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, the fic you didn't know you needed~ 
> 
> I have only the vaguest ideas of what the rest of this will be. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

“Allison,” Scott sighed, dropping into the seat across from Stiles.

 

Stiles raised an eyebrow and pointed to himself. “Nope. Stiles, remember?”

 

Scott ignored him. “That girl who I lent a pen to. Her name is Allison.”

 

“Ah,” Stiles nodded sagely. “You’re smitten. Were you eavesdropping?”

 

“ _No_ ,” Scott said defensively. “I talked to her.”

 

“Hey! Way to go, buddy.” Giving a cursory glance around the crowded cafeteria to make sure there were no teachers nearby, Stiles slid his phone out onto his lap and pulled up facebook. “So? Did you get a last name?”

 

“Argent.”

 

Stiles paused. “Huh.”

 

“Huh? What does ‘huh’ mean?” Scott leaned across the table, trying in vain to see Stiles’ phone screen. “Is she a serial killer? Does she have 40,000 friends? _Is she in a relationship?_ Stiles, can you please stop staring and tell me what ‘huh’ means?”

 

“Oh,” Stiles gave himself a little shake. “Nothing bad. And for the record, most serial killers don’t post about it on facebook.”

 

“So what the hell?”

 

“It’s just… Argent.”

 

“Yeah? What about it?”

 

“Well, Argent means silver.”

 

“So what?”

 

“So _what?_ ” Stiles glanced around before leaning forward, his expression deadly serious. “Don’t you think it’s a little weird that someone named _Argent_ shows up the moment you get bitten?”

 

“What?” Scott’s face cleared. “No way. You think she’s mixed up in all this stuff?”

 

Stiles shrugged, uneasy. “Names have power, Scotty. If that’s not actually rule one in magic, it’s pretty high up there.”

 

“But she just moved to town! She can’t possibly know about- y’know.”

 

Stiles just shrugged again. “Believe what you want, but I’m gonna ask Derek Hale about the Argents. Maybe it’s nothing, but I think he’s been on this scene longer than we have.”

 

Scott squared him jaw. “Then I’m coming with you.”

 

Stiles laughed. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

 

\---

 

As they pulled up in Stiles’ Jeep, they spotted Derek standing on the front porch, arms crossed. Hostile. Great.

 

Scott and Stiles exchanged a look before getting out of the car and approaching.

 

“I thought I told you this is private property,” Derek started to say, but he paused. He tilted his head, curious, eyes zeroing in on Scott. “You’ve been bitten recently.”

 

With a smug look, Stiles punched Scott on the arm. “Fuckin _knew_ he was a werewolf.”

 

“You mean you weren’t sure?” Scott hissed back, scandalized.

 

“I can hear you whispering.” Derek came down the porch steps to stop in front of them. He was about to turn to Scott when he gave a funny spasm. Frowning, he looked Stiles up and down. “I don’t get it,” he said bluntly. “ _You’re_ not a wolf, but you’re not a normal human, are you?”

 

“No,” Stiles said quickly, “I am definitely a normal human. My name is Stiles. This is Scott. And _this guy_ ,” he dragged Scott towards him by one arm, “Was bitten before we met you last time and you didn’t say anything.”

 

Derek shrugged. “If he was bitten recently, I may not have been able to smell it on him yet.” Derek looked at Stiles as he spoke, as if saying that he wasn’t going to forget about that redirection anytime soon. Stiles wanted to shiver. That light hazel gaze was intense.

 

“Wait,” Scott blurted. The other two looked at him. “I know I’m the rookie here,” Derek shot Stiles another narrow-eyed look, “But if you weren’t the one who bit me, does that mean there’s another-? Another wolf? Around here, I mean.”

 

Stiles could feel Scott shaking. _He must have seen some serious shit when he was bitten. Of course, there was also the dead body that was brutally ripped in two. That would give anyone the shakes._

 

“So it would seem,” Derek said slowly. Stiles could almost hear the cogs turning in his head. “Is that why you came to see me? You thought I was the one who bit you?”

 

“No,” Stiles said, and had to control his breathing as Derek transferred his attention back to Stiles. “There’s this girl at school. New kid, just moved here. But her name is Argent and-”

 

“ _Argent?_ ” Derek’s voice was sharp. “As in Chris and Kate?”

 

“Well,” Stiles hedged, “I don’t know who Chris and Kate are, but the girl’s name is Allison.”

 

“And she’s your age?”

 

“A year older,” Scott butted in.

 

Derek nodded to himself. “Chris Argent has a child. I guess she’d be about your age. They just moved back to town?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Derek wore an ugly look. “They shouldn’t have. It was part of our agreement.”

 

Stiles spoke up hesitantly. “Did they do something?”

 

A couple of emotions flitted across Derek’s face. “They’re trouble,” he said finally. “Don’t get too attached to the girl. And leave Chris Argent to me.”

 

Stiles held up his hands placatingly. “Happy to. But sharing is caring, and it would really be nice if you didn’t keep us in the dark.”

 

Derek gave Stiles a disdainful look. “When you explain why you smell _off_ for a human, and why _he_ ,” he pointed at Scott, “Implied that you’re not new to supernatural stuff, and how you even knew I was a wolf, then maybe I’ll show you some of my cards. For now, stay the hell away. I’ll handle the Argents.”

 

Derek strode away. After a minute, he sped by in his car. A pretty nice car, for a guy living in a burned-out wreck in the woods.

 

“That went well,” Stiles said.

 

Scott gave a low moan.

 

“Also,” Stiles clamped a hand onto Scott’s arm. When Scott looked over, Stiles was staring into the distance, lips pressed together. “I am so gay.”

 

“I thought you were bi?”

 

“I _am_ bi. You know what I mean.”

 

“For _Derek?_ ”

 

Stiles nodded.

 

“He could tear us in half!”

 

“I know,” Stiles sighed. “It’s pretty hot.”

 

“Ew,” Scott said, doing a quick about-face and striding back to the car. “I don’t know you.”

 

“Don’t say that, Scotty! Do you want to force me back into the closet?”

 

“I don’t think you’ve ever been closeted in your entire life,” Scott snorted. They got into the car and slammed the doors. Stiles started the engine, and it turned over the second time instead of the fourth. It was a good sign.

 

“Still!” Stiles headed for the main road. “So are you going to stay away from Allison?” He didn’t need to turn his head to see Scott’s puppy-dog expression. “What am I saying? Of course you’re not. She’s the first pretty girl you’ve worked up the nerve to talk to.”

 

“She’s going to tutor me.”

 

“Wear a condom. Hey! No punching the driver!”

 

\---

 

Chris Argent was bent over some order forms in his garage, talking softly with one of his assistants when Derek showed up. Chris dismissed the man, handing him the forms. “Derek.”

 

“Chris.” Derek folded his arms.

 

“Would you care to move this to my office?”

 

“No, I would not care to do that.” Argent was trying to establish the upper hand. In his office, inside of his house, he would certainly have that. Power plays, how Derek hadn’t missed them. “Can you please explain what you’re doing back here?”

 

“Our agreement said-”

 

“Our _agreement_ ,” Derek cut him off, “After Kate _burned my family alive_ was that neither you, nor your people would come anywhere near Beacon Hills _or me_ , again.”

 

“You see, that’s where you’re wrong.” Derek felt an uneasiness in his stomach. He realized he was subconsciously shifting his stance as he stood to one that was more aggressive, tightly coiled. He stopped himself with great effort.

 

“Our agreement was that no hunters would come back to Beacon Hills _so long as_ there was no need of us.” Chris strolled over to one of the counters. He made no move for any of the weapons arrayed on the walls, however, and returned with a stack of newspapers. These he carelessly tossed onto the table in front of Derek.

 

Derek sorted through them. “These are animal attacks.”

 

“ _Wolf_ attacks,” Chris corrected smugly. “And need I remind you that there are no wild wolves in Beacon Hills? No, I thought not.”

 

Derek looked up. “Spit it out,” he growled. “What you’re clearly dying to say.”

 

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Either you claim responsibility for the rogue wolf, in which case we will let you deal with it and punish you as its alpha for any of its wrongdoings, or you choose not to associate with it and leave it to us. I swear my family will leave you in peace once we are sure it has been… contained.”

 

“You mean once you kill them,” Derek said bluntly. “No finesse with you hunters. Somehow, you’ve never understood that wolves are people. Sometimes I think we’re more human than you are.” Derek glanced around at all of the weapons, just to make his point. His blood was boiling. He _hated_ being bullied.

 

Chris’ mouth twisted. “Do you claim kinship with the rogue wolf?”

 

Derek hesitated, looking down at the newspaper clippings. Instinct was to say yes, to protect this wolf. On the other hand, if he was rogue, there wasn’t much Derek could do about it. In the end, though, Derek had not been brought up to let hunters defend his territory for him. Beacon Hills was _his_.

 

“Give me some time to deal with it myself,” Derek said quietly. “If the wolf isn’t dealt with by then, I won’t try to stop you when you go after them, and I’ll take whatever punishment you think is necessary. I don’t know who this wolf is, but I’m damned if I can’t find out. Just stay out of my way while I try.”

 

Chris raised his eyebrows. “My family just moved, so I’m feeling generous. Take a three week grace period.” He made a point of checking his watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

 

“Argent.” Chris stopped. “If you interfere, if it comes to your people against mine, be assured that I will win. I’m Talia Hale’s son. That still means something, even now. And your sister killed her and my family. Burned them alive like the vindictive, murderous coward she is. All I can say is that Kate had better not be here with you, because if she was, I’d be hard-pressed to control all of the people who were loyal to my mother and who would be after Kate’s blood.”

 

Chris’ expression was ugly. “I don’t like threats, Hale.”

 

Derek smiled. “Good. Remember that next time you feel like making one.”

 

“Dad?” a girl came around the corner, stopping abruptly when she saw Derek. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were in a meeting.”

 

“That’s okay, honey,” Chris said. “Derek was just leaving.”

 

\---

 

Stiles watched Isaac in the locker room. It wasn’t as weird as it sounded. He had been absent from practice yesterday, and today there were bruise-colored circles under his eyes. He kept flinching at the sound of people slamming their locker doors.

 

“I’m going to go say hi to him,” Stiles muttered to no one in particular. He strode up to Isaac and put a hand on his shoulder. Isaac spooked so badly that he nearly walked into the lockers, his shoulders riding somewhere around his ears.

 

“Hey Isaac, missed you yesterday,” Stiles said. Isaac shot him a wild look.

 

“Yeah, I was sick. One of those 24-hour stomach bugs.”

 

“Ah, that sucks. You feeling better?”

 

“Yeah,” Isaac shrugged out from under Stile’s hand. “Much.” He slammed his locker and made to move away, but Stiles stopped him.

 

“Hey, don’t forget your stick.”

 

“Right, thanks.”

 

Scott caught up with Stiles as Isaac moved away. “What was that about? I don’t think you’ve ever said two words to Isaac before.”

 

“We talk occasionally,” Stiles said vaguely. He turned to Scott. “Actually, I think you should talk to him.”

 

“What?” Scott was startled. “Why this sudden interest in him?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “Just a feeling. He was acing all jumpy, so I went up to him to have an excuse to touch him.”

 

Scott made a face. “Touch him? Is it a witch thing?”

 

“Yeah. If I touch someone, I can get an idea of their emotional state.”

 

“Isn’t that, like, incredibly invasive? Like mind-reading?”

 

Stiles shook his head. “It doesn’t happen automatically. I have to concentrate a little. And I don’t know what they’re thinking, just feeling. I guess it’s good I have to touch someone for it to work. It would be harder if I had to filter out all of the people around us to get to one person.”

 

“So what did you feel when you touched Isaac?”

 

Stiles shuddered. “Nothing good. He’s scared. He feels trapped and desperate. That’s why I think you should talk to him.”

 

“How’s that conversation going to go? ‘Hi, my best friend is a witch and he read your mind and thinks you need help’?”

 

“It’s not mind-reading,” Stiles said absently. “I just think he needs a friend. At least until I can figure some things out.”

 

“Why me? Why not you? I mean, no offense to Isaac, he seems like a decent enough guy.”

 

“He’s not going to open up to me.”

 

“And what, he will to me?”

 

“Are you kidding? He looks up to you.”

 

“Did you find that out when you read his emotions?”

 

Stiles looked at Scott. “No, I found that out because I have eyes.”

 

Scott frowned. “Is this another one of those really obvious things that I missed because I’m oblivious?”

 

“Not exactly? Pay attention when we’re in practice. Every time he can pass you the ball, he will. Every time he makes a shot, he looks at you for approval.”

 

“Oh,” Scott was blushing. “Do you think he knows I’m straight?”

 

“Scotty, you’re the straightest guy I know. He definitely knows. But maybe he doesn’t want to date you, maybe he just wants to be your friend.” Stiles paused. “That, or he’ll wait for your first marriage to fail and then slowly seduce into the world of bisexuality.”

 

Scott shook his head. “So what’s the endgame? Become his friend? Then what?”

 

“I don’t know. I’m working on it. I just need to know more about him. I feel like there’s something I’m missing.” Stiles hesitated. “I may enlist Derek.”

 

“Why, so you can stare at him again?”

 

“Partly. I am nothing if not shameless. Speaking of, I noticed that Allison is still here. Think Derek talked to her dad?”

 

Scott shrugged. “If he did, he’s not likely to tell us.”

 

Stiles sighed as they headed out onto the field. “Great. I love walking blindly into danger. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two!! I'm still not totally sure what this story will be, but I'm working on finding out. Isaac's early appearance courtesy of that one person who commented on Safe Haven recently asking for more of him. Be assured, there are still more characters to be introduced. I'm bumping up the rating of the story, too, for later chapters. Let me know if there's stuff you want warnings about, but I usually update the story tags to reflect added problematic content. 
> 
> Thank you to the people you left me lovely comments! You really made my day. '3'


	3. Chapter 3

Lydia excused herself from a particularly tedious Calculus class to use the bathroom. Bringing her purse with her in the universal code for ‘I was going to go whether you told me I could or not,’ she left.

 

“Oh, hi Erica.” The other girl turned around. She looked pale and was unhappily twisting a lank and brittle clump of hair around one of her fingers.

 

“Hey, Lyds. What’s up?”

 

Lydia held up a tampon. “Mind waiting for me?”

 

“No problem. Not like I have anywhere better to be.”

 

Once Lydia had finished up and washed her hands, she leaned against the sink next to Erica’s. “I like that sweater.”

 

Erica plucked at the pink, baggy thing with a kitten printed on it. “Thanks.”

 

Lydia considered her. “What’s going on, Erica? You’ve been dodging my calls.”

 

Erica shook her head. “Just been feeling a little crappier than usual.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Lydia hesitated. “I know you always say no, but the offer for you to sit with me and my friends at lunch still stands-”

 

Erica snorted. “I’m not turning you down because I think your reputation will suffer, I’m turning you down because a lot of your other friends are total dicks.” Erica met Lydia’s eyes in the mirror, and no matter the rest of her appearance, her eyes were clear and direct. “I’m done hiding, though. I’m a mess, but I’m sick of people pointedly not staring.”

 

Lydia pulled a brush from her bag. “Want me to put your hair up?”

 

Erica smiled in spite of herself. “You’re an angel.”

 

Lydia was careful, starting at the ends and slowly working her way up with even strokes. “Want to hang out today?”

 

“Mm, you cleverly waited until you were playing with my hair so I couldn’t say no.”

 

Lydia smiled guilelessly. “I have cookie dough and the Matrix. We could watch while we bake.”

 

“Or we could eat the cookie dough raw and watch Pacific Rim.”

 

“Deal.”

 

\---

 

“Well, this is it.” Isaac made a sweeping gesture at his house. It looked unremarkable: bricks, white trim, and slate gray roof. Brown, tough-looking weeds waged war against the grass, butting up against the concrete front step to try and snag any soldier brave enough to cross the threshold.

 

Scott nodded. “Cool.” It had taken quite a while to convince Isaac to invite Scott home, and he had resisted with equal rigor hanging out with Scott outside of school.

 

In any case, they were ostensibly here to study for a big Chem test that was coming up. In reality, Scott was here to do reconnaissance for Stiles. And for himself, he supposed. He had talked with Isaac enough by then to notice his jumpiness, the way some questions seemed to just shut him down. He knew that some people were just like that, but those things seemed incongruous with Isaac’s sarcastic, witty personality.

 

As soon as they got inside, Isaac removed his shoes. Scott followed suit. Many of the downstairs curtains were drawn, and Scott wished he had thought to see if any of the upstairs ones were, too. Isaac dumped his bag in a chair in the living room and went to the living room, Scott trailing behind him.

 

“Hi, dad. This is Scott.” Isaac had insisted that his dad would only let them study together on a Saturday, and Scott couldn’t help but wonder if Isaac’s dad felt he should supervise them.

 

Scott put out a hand and Isaac’s father crushed it with his own, piercing Scott with a blue stare paler than his son’s. “How do you do?” Scott asked helplessly.

 

Isaac father didn’t answer. Laconic, he said, “Better get to work.”

 

Isaac nodded and took Scott back through to the dining room. Scott could hear the drone of the TV from the living room, and every now and then, Isaac threw a look at his father, the back of whose head with just visible over his chair.

 

Isaac warned him to be careful of shards of broken glass when Scott went to get a glass of water. Scott wondered why Isaac didn’t wear shoes down here. When they finished their studying, hours later, Isaac suggested they play cards.

 

“Up in your room?” Scott asked, standing automatically, but Isaac shook his head and shot another look at his father. “Down here is good.”

 

They played cards quietly until Isaac’s father finally stood up in the next room and switched off the TV. Isaac flinched. His father came to lean heavily on the doorframe.

 

“It’s getting late. I’ll drive Scott home.”

 

Scott gave Isaac a quick look. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

 

Isaac nodded unhappily and Scott left, trying not to look too relieved.

 

\---

 

“Dude, how did it go today?” Stiles looked up at Scott from his bed. He had his mother’s journal in front of him and two spell books spread open. He had been charming jars of water earlier, but was concentrating now on levitating the baseball again, making it gently bob in the air. He figured if he did it enough, he’d build up magical stamina or something and it wouldn’t be as tough, but making the baseball rise without it touching his hand was more difficult than letting it gently lower.

 

Scott looked upset. He was ripping a spare piece of paper apart at Stiles’ desk, and Stiles just had to hope it was nothing important. “I think Isaac is afraid of his dad,” Scott said, and described all that he had seen.

 

“You think his dad hits him?”

 

“Or something,” Scott said. “It might explain why he sometimes misses school for a while, if he doesn’t want people to see his bruises or something.”

 

Stiles shuddered. “That’s sick.”

 

“I know.” Scott twisted back and forth in the desk chair. “What are you going to do? Tell your dad?”

 

Stiles spread his hands helplessly. “We have no proof. And Isaac is what, our age? Seventeen? He can’t live on his own yet, and an investigation might actually make things worse for Isaac.”

 

Scott narrowed his eyes. “You started this, Stiles. You sent me poking around in his business. Now what are we going to do? We can’t just let his father keep hurting him. For all we know, he’s scarred for life or something.”

 

“I know,” Stiles said helplessly. “I know, I know, I know. But we have no proof.” He let the baseball fall and caught it in his hand. “I think I have an idea, though. A way to give Isaac enough leverage to help himself. But I’ll need to make nice with Derek.”

 

Scott looked suspicious. “What are you planning?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “If I tell you now, you’ll tell me it’s a bad idea.”

 

“Maybe hypothetical-me is right and it _is_ a bad idea.”

 

Stiles ignored that. “I’m going tomorrow. Want to come?”

 

Scott’s expression turned apologetic. “Can’t. Allison and I have a tutoring session.”

 

“Oh.” Stiles considered. “I guess I’m safe to go alone, right? Derek was exonerated. And anyway, this can’t wait.”

 

“No, I guess not. But be careful.”

 

\---

 

Derek was once again standing on the porch when Stiles arrived the next day. “Do you just stand out here and wait for trespassers?” Stiles asked.

 

“This is what’s left of my family. I’m territorial. Sue me.”

 

Stiles approached as close as he dared, and looked up at Derek from the foot of the porch stairs. “Can we go inside? I need to talk to you.”

 

Derek seemed likely to resist, but he shrugged and Stiles followed him, feeling distinctly like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

 

The first thing that hit him was the smell of charred wood. The second was a smell of damp. It had been a gray, drizzly week. He wrinkled his nose. “Is this place even safe?”

 

Derek didn’t answer. He faced Stiles, arms folded.

 

Stiles fidgeted, avoiding his gaze.

 

“Why are you here? Is your werewolf buddy in trouble?”

 

“No,” Stiles said defiantly. “Did you expect him to be?”

 

Derek’s answer surprised him. “Not… exactly. I know new wolves are capable of getting themselves into all manner of trouble. I may not have been bitten, but my mom was an alpha and I got the same lectures and training that her chosen few got.”

 

Stiles frowned. “There’s something else. Some other reason you thought Scott might have been in trouble. What is it? Something the Argents told you?”

 

“You’re pretty smart,” Derek said. It sounded like a challenge instead of a compliment. “In fact, you always seem to know more than you should. Why is that?”

 

Stiles swallowed. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”

 

“You first.”

 

Figured. Stiles wasn’t even sure why he didn’t want to tell Derek. He just thought that the fewer people who knew he wasn’t just a defenseless human, the better. Slowly, he pulled his mother’s journal out of his coat pocket and handed it to Derek. “I’m a witch,” he said.

 

Derek turned the pages of the book interestedly. “Like a druid?”

 

“Sort of. Druids are specialists, and as of yet I’m unspecialized.”

 

Derek paused in his careful examination, fingers tracing the letters ‘C.S.’, which were stamped into the front cover. Perhaps his father had given the little book to his mother after they were married. Stiles hadn’t thought to ask. “What did you say your name was, again?”

 

“Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. That journal was my mother’s.”

 

“Stilinski?” Stiles braced himself for the usual connection strangers often drew between him and the Sheriff, but Derek surprised him again. “You’re Claudia Stilinski’s son?”

 

“Er, yes.” Stiles was startled. “How do you know my mother?”

 

Derek handed him back the journal, looking troubled. “She and my mother were good fiends. Your mother was a witch, too, you know.”

 

“I figured,” Stiles said faintly.

 

“She used to be over my house all the time. This house, in fact,” And Derek gestured around at the wreck. “I was pretty young at the time, maybe six or seven when she stopped coming by as much, but she used to bring you with her as a baby. There were always so many cousins and things that everyone sort of adopted you and your mom as part of our family.”

 

Stiles felt a lump in his throat. “Why didn’t she ever tell me?”

 

The look of nostalgia abruptly faded from Derek’s face. “When you were probably about three, your mom found something out. I can’t,” he screwed up his face, “Can’t remember what it was, but it scared her badly, and even worried my mother. She said she would have to raise you away from this world.”

 

Stiles was fighting hard not to cry. Imagine how different his life would have been if he had been raised like Derek was. He wouldn’t be struggling just to levitate a baseball. He would be surrounded by what sounded like a really cool adopted family. He thought of his father and the one day a year when he would call in sick to work. How he had wept at his wife’s funeral, the first and only time Stiles had seen his dad cry. How he still sometimes drank a little too much, when the pain was too acute.

 

“Okay,” Stiles said finally, when he had pulled himself together. “What about you?”

 

Derek bit his lip. He looked like he was experiencing a little of what Stiles had just felt.

 

“I was fifteen when Kate Argent fucked me and burned my family alive.”

 

Stiles’ eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

 

Derek made a face. “I’ve had time to come to terms with it. The Argents have never really apologized for that. They left, knowing I would swear to kill Kate myself if they weren’t been gone by the time I was done grieving.”

 

“But now they’re back,” Stiles said, almost to himself. “Why?”

 

“Have you noticed all of the animal attacks recently? In the papers?”

 

“Yeah? What, they think that’s you?”

 

Derek shook his head. “Chris Argent knows I’m not stupid enough to hunt humans, especially on my own territory. He thinks it’s a rogue wolf.”

 

“And you think it’s whoever bit Scott.”

 

Derek nodded grimly.

 

“What will you do?”

 

“The hunters gave me three weeks to stop them on my own terms. I still have two and a half. If I find them, I’ll either try to talk them into leaving, which isn’t going to work, or I’ll have to kill them.”

 

 _“Kill?”_ Stiles’ voice rose in a squeak. Derek had spoken so off-handedly.

 

“Better than letting hunters kill a rogue on my territory.”

 

“Why won’t talking to the wolf help?”

 

“They’ve already killed humans,” Derek said grimly. “Even if they leave, they’re not just going to stop.”

 

Stiles swallowed. Scott had warned him to be careful. “I need a favor.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah. There’s this guy at school. Scott and I are pretty sure his father is beating him.”

 

“What do you want me to do about it? Kill this kid’s father?” Derek scoffed.

 

“Offer him the bite.”

 

Derek stared at Stiles. “You’re delusional. There’s already a rogue wolf running around.”

 

Stiles set his jaw. “Exactly. You need backup.”

 

“Which I am _not_ going to get in the form of a high school kid.”

 

“You need a _family_.” That argument seemed to throw Derek for a loop. Stiles felt underhanded, using Derek’s past against him.

 

“Listen, even if I _could_ offer this kid the bite, what good what it do?”

 

“Wait, what do you mean you can’t?”

 

Derek spread his hands helplessly. “I’m not an alpha. One of the easiest ways to become one is to kill an alpha which is A) stupid and B) fucking difficult.”

 

“But you think the rogue wolf bit Scott. And you’re planning to kill it.”

 

Derek rubbed the back of his neck, casting his eyes around the room. “I guess so.”

 

“Think about it? Please?”

 

Derek looked back at Stiles. “After Kate killed my family, I lived with my sisters. Laura had been away at college, and Cora was staying over at a friend’s house. The only other person to survive the fire was my uncle, and he’s disfigured by burns and has been comatose for eight years. Now Laura is dead, too. This is a dangerous life. I won’t willingly bring someone into it in unstable times like these.”

 

“But that’s when you need friends the most,” Stiles said quietly.

 

Derek shrugged. “I don’t have friends. Not anymore.”

 

\---

 

“Hey, Scott?” Allison waved a hand in front of Scott’s face.

 

“Hm? Sorry.” He quickly looked back at his books.

 

Allison sighed and shut her book. “You know, I like to think that we’re at least friends by now.” Scott nodded fervently. “So you can tell me when there’s something bothering you.”

 

“Oh.” Scott tore guiltily at the edge of his worksheet, and Allison covered his hand with one of hers, forcing him to look her in the eye.

 

It would be so easy, Scott thought. So easy to tell her everything, to watch as she laughed in his face and told him he had a good imagination. So easy to insist that werewolves were real and Stiles was a witch and Isaac's father beat him. His life had turned upside-down and at this point, all he wanted was to confide.

 

But most of those secrets weren’t his to tell. And little though he wanted to believe that Allison was involved in any of it, Derek and Stiles’ warnings niggled in the back of his mind. Carefully, he turned his hand and took hold of hers.

 

“I want to tell you,” he said earnestly, “But there’s a lot going on right now that I’m still trying to process. I really like you and don’t want to scare you away, but I’ll tell you when I’m ready, okay? I promise.”

 

Allison nodded. “Thank you for being honest with me.” She smiled “Lydia is having a party next Saturday. Want to come?”

 

Scott blinked. This was surreal. Lydia threw legendary parties, but never before had he had either an incentive to go or an invitation. “Can Stiles come, too?”

 

“Of course. So you’ll come?”

 

Scott smiled helplessly. “Sure.”

 

Allison leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “See you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha so I'm really sorry this chapter isn't funnier. And also I fucked up and forgot that Derek's not an alpha yet. HMMM I WONDER WHAT ZANY ADVENTURES WILL COME NEXT. No I don't. I know. ;)
> 
> Once again, thank you thank you thank you to the people who have left comments. You guys are the light of my life. Have a great day!!


	4. Chapter 4

Scott stirred. He thought he had heard something. A gentle tapping. Probably a tree branch. He rolled over and squinted at his alarm clock. Then he caught sight of Derek’s face, looming at his window, and he was up and across the room in a heartbeat, wide-awake, hands shaking with adrenaline.

 

“What do you want?” He breathed.

 

Derek rolled his eyes and pointed to the window latch. Scott hesitated, but supposed that if Derek really wanted to hurt him, he could break in with relatively no trouble. He approached warily and threw the window open. Derek did him the courtesy of not trying to come inside.

 

“Did Stiles come and see you today? Is he alright?”

 

“Yes and yes.” Derek kept his voice low, no doubt able to hear Melissa’s even breathing from the room down the hall.

 

Scott crossed his arms, very aware that his boxers and tee shirt didn’t afford him much in the way of protection. “What are you doing here?”

 

But Derek was distracted. “What’s that?” He pointed to the glint of silver sitting at Scott’s breastbone.

 

Scott picked it up, absently rubbing a thumb across the engraved surface. “It’s an amulet. To stop me turning in my sleep.”

 

Derek looked impressed despite himself. “No wonder you haven’t been getting into too much trouble. Do you wear it all the time?”

 

“I have been. Why?”

 

Derek bit his lip. “Stiles tells me you guys need a favor. A kid whose dad is beating him. You want me to offer the kid the bite.”

 

“ _What_? _That_ was Stiles’ plan?”

 

Derek tilted his head. “He didn’t tell you?”

 

“He knew I’d tell him it was a shitty idea,” Scott growled. “Well? You’re not going to do it, are you?”

 

“Can’t even if I wanted to,” Derek said. “And that’s where you come in.”

 

“ _I’m_ not biting him, either.” Scott said defiantly.

 

Derek rolled his eyes. “Bite him all you want, you’re still a beta. That’s not what I need from you.”

 

Scott looked wary. “What is it, then?”

 

“I need you to remove that amulet.”

 

Scott clutched at it nervously. “Why?”

 

“I need you to try and track the alpha that bit you.”

 

“But I don’t know who bit me.”

 

Derek gritted his teeth. “Please? I know it’s a long shot, but this guy has been causing trouble. They’ve hurt people. Some are even dead.”

 

“And you want to put me in the middle of this because-?”

 

“Because that amulet doesn’t mask your scent, and I suspect it only suppresses the transformation. The rogue will be able to find you anyway, and if they do, you need to know how to defend yourself.”

 

“Better to hit back first?” Scott muttered.

 

“Essentially.”

 

“So what’s the plan? Coach me through the werewolf stuff and then I sit on a rock in the woods tied up all pretty with a bow?”

 

“Only if you can’t track them.”

 

“What? The bait idea was sarcasm!” Scott was seriously alarmed now.

 

Derek sighed. “Listen. I know I’m not your alpha, but I can help you with this stuff. And trust me, you will need my help, especially in two and a half weeks when it’ll be full moon again.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

Derek pointed at the sliver of silver visible between Scott’s fingers. “Because that’s not going to be enough to suppress a full moon transformation. And because you’ve been holding back the little ones, the first big one’s gonna hurt like hell. You won’t be able to control it.”

 

Scott sat down hard and covered his head with his arms. His chest was feeling tight, like it always did when he was about to have an asthma attack, but his breathing was even. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” he muttered.

 

Derek shrugged. “Some of the older wolves will tell you it’s a gift. But the truth is, ever since the very first of us, it was a curse. But you can use it. It doesn’t have to control you.” Derek turned, eying the drop from the roof, and then looked back. “Let me know when you want my help.” He left.

 

\---

 

“He visited you at night?” Stiles poked at some suspicious-looking mashed potatoes. “I don’t know whether to be freaked out or jealous.”

 

“I can’t believe you asked him to bite Isaac,” Scott said for the fourth or fifth time. Stiles had just got done filling Scott in on his own visit with Derek. He had left out some of the details of Derek’s tale of woe, and was grateful to Scott for not pushing him to explain his offhanded ‘and my mom was a witch’ thing.

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Relax. He’s not going to do it.”

 

Scott glared across the table. “He offered to train me, you know.”

 

“Who, Derek?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well?”

 

“Well what?”

 

“What did you say?” Stiles asked impatiently.

 

Scott shrugged. “He told me the amulet you gave me has been suppressing the little changes.”

 

Stiles punched the air. “So it works!”

 

“But that that means my first full moon since the bite is going to hurt.”

 

“Oh.” Stiles bit his lip. “I’m sorry, bro. I didn’t realize.” He steeled himself. “Maybe you should let Derek teach you.”

 

Scott stabbed at his pasta. “He wants me to help him find the rogue alpha.”

 

“Are you scared?” Scott met Stiles’ eyes, which were round with anxiety.

 

“Yeah.”

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, playing halfheartedly with their food, lost in their thoughts.

 

Scott broke it first. “Allison invited us to Lydia’s party this Saturday.”

 

Stiles choked on a laugh. “Two weeks ago, I would have been thrilled. Now I’m wondering if we should go, with everything else we’re juggling.”

 

“Hey!” Stiles looked up. “We are going to that party. We always said we’d be invited to a Lydia Martin party once in our high school career and I am not letting some supernatural bullshit fuck up our chances.”

 

Stiles put his head to one side, admiringly. “You’re hot when you take charge like that.”

 

“Fuck you, I’m always hot.”

 

“Damn right you are.” Stiles pretended to swoon. “Oh, Mr. McCall, ooh!”

 

“Stop that.”

 

“Take me now!”

 

Scott tutted. “What would Derek think?”

 

“Something dry and repressed. He can watch, though.”

 

“Ironic that as soon as you stop having a crush on Lydia we get invited to her house.”

 

“Oh, don’t be fooled. I am still very much waiting for the perfect time to propose to her again.”

 

“Again? You mean you still count that time in second grade?”

 

“‘I don’t care if you have cooties,’” Stile recounted dreamily. “‘I love you. Marry me.’”

 

“She turned you down flat.”

 

Stiles shrugged. “Second time’s the charm. This time, I won’t bring up the cooties.”

 

\---

 

“Hey dad?” The sheriff paused on his way to the stairs, his uniform opened a couple of buttons to show off his rumpled undershirt.

 

“Yeah, kiddo?”

 

Stiles dropped his backpack by the front door.

 

“Did you know mom was a witch?”

 

John paused. He beckoned Stiles to follow him into the kitchen. Stiles got them each a glass of water before sitting down, leaning his elbows on the table and watching him anxiously.

 

John traced the rim of his glass with one finger, refusing to meet his son’s eyes. “Of course I knew,” he said quietly.

 

“Why didn’t you ever mention it?”

 

John shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t really have a god reason, Stiles. I never knew much about her world. She would tell me things, all about a new spell she was working on or how someone had come to her for a charm or for advice, but for the most part she wouldn’t let me actually see what went on.”

 

“How come?”

 

John shrugged again, and, with a struggle, met Stiles’ eyes. “I think she knew that it scared me. I was an officer, after all. I used to wonder whether there were things going on behind the scenes that I had no control over.”

 

“And now?”

 

“Now I just do the best I can. I always knew your mother was special. She just didn’t tell me exactly how special until after we were married.”

 

Stiles was nodding slowly. “And she knew the Hales?”

 

“Oh yeah, she and Talia were like this.” John held up his crossed fingers. “She used to take you over to the Hales’ when you were a baby. I was over there a few times, too, but Claudia had some kind of special connection with Talia.”

 

“Why didn’t mom ever tell me any of this stuff?”

 

John took a sip of water, aware that Stiles was watching him closely. “When you were still pretty young, something spooked your mom. It made her realize that it wasn’t safe right then to raise a kid in the middle of all of that stuff. Accidents happen. So she stopped taking you with her.”

 

“She-” Stiles swallowed. He looked sick. “Nevermind.” He stood up. “I think I need to go and see someone.”

 

John took one look at his son and got up too, folding him in a fierce hug. “You know I love you, Stiles. I know I’m not as good at talking as your mother was, but please don’t shut me out.”

 

Hesitantly, Stiles’ arms came up to return the hug. “I’m okay, dad. Really.”

 

John loosened his hold, looking Stiles in the eye.

 

“Is there something going on I should know about?”

 

Stiles shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure, yet.”

 

At least he hadn’t lied. “Be safe, kiddo.”

 

“Yeah, dad.” Stiles grabbed his keys from the sideboard. “I’ll try.”

 

\---

 

There was a hammering from Derek’s front door. He opened it to see Stiles, breathless, fist still raised. There were tears on his face. Derek didn’t think Stiles had even realized.

 

“I think my mother was a druid,” Stiles gasped. “Dad said she had some kind of connection to your mom.”

 

Derek stepped out onto the porch, took Stiles by the shoulders, and examined him in the light. Stiles writhed impatiently. “Are you okay?” Derek asked, frowning.

 

“Yeah? Of course I’m- why would you-” Stiles was gasping and his heart rate was rabbiting. He tried to keep speaking, but was starting to crumple, bent over, hands convulsively clutching at his own chest. He staggered and Derek caught him, alarmed.

 

He took Stiles by the shoulders again, dragging him upright and leaning their foreheads together. Without thinking about it, he moved his hands to the sides of Stiles’ face, the softness of Stiles’ shorn hair against the pads of his fingers barely registering. He pulled at Stiles’ panic, the chaos in his head, at the seizing in his lungs and battering of his heart. He pulled at his pain.

 

The next thing Derek knew, he was staggering back, his face smarting where Stiles had punched him.

 

“What the _fuck_ was _that_?” Stiles demanded. Derek looked at him, sulkily cradling his aching face. Stiles still looked pale, but it seemed that he was getting his breathing under control again.

 

“Werewolf trick,” Derek said. “You were having a panic attack. We can take people’s pain.”

 

“Oh.” Stiles grimaced and flexed his hand, which was definitely going to bruise later, Derek could tell. It was lucky Stiles hadn’t broken any bones. “Warn me next time, will you? It feels fucking weird.”

 

“Does this happen a lot?” Derek asked.

 

Stiles shrugged. “Used to happen more.”

 

“What should I do next time, then?” Derek said, trying to keep the snap out of his voice.

 

Stiles stepped forward and took Derek’s hand from his face and just… held it. “This is all I need,” he said.

 

“Um.” Derek regarded their joined hands.

 

Stiles reddened and quickly dropped it. “It’s a witch thing. If I concentrate, I can read people’s emotions. In the unlikely event that you’re around and this happens again, that should be enough for me to straighten myself out.”

 

Derek shook his head. “Maybe we should exchange lore. I feel like I barely know anything about witches.” He sighed. “Anyway, I think you were trying to tell me something before? If you’re feeling calmer now.”

 

“Yeah.” Stiles dropped into a threadbare deck seat, exhausted. “I was just talking to my dad about my mom. He said most of the same stuff that you did about her and your mom, but he also said they had a special connection and I was wondering…”

 

“If she was my mom’s emissary?”

 

Stiles let his head fall back. “It would make sense, right?”

 

Derek nodded, thinking it over. “My mom was well-known. She had plenty of enemies. That could account for what spooked your mom enough to raise you away from this stuff.”

 

“Well that was my other thought,” Stiles said. “What if it wasn’t ‘this whole thing’ that scared my mom? What if someone threatened her? Or me?”

 

Derek hauled another chair across from Stiles and sat down gingerly. He thought he knew where Stiles was going. “How did your mom die?”

 

“Frontotemporal dementia.” Stiles said it with such weariness that Derek was struck with a pang of guilt for even asking.

 

But he had to be sure. “Supposedly.”

 

Stiles met his eyes with great effort. “Supposedly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Panic! At the Hale House
> 
> So Mal, I noticed you definitely did not get around to sticking Lydia's party in there. Well, reader, you are absolutely right! To do right by that scene, I decided to relegate it to the next chapter. It's all good.
> 
> Speaking of which, I have chapters five and six already written. I'm using this break to really knuckle down and do this shit, since I'm really feeling this story right now, and wrote chapters 3-6 in the course of four days. So basically everything is going great and I should finish within a week or so, if I don't get bored. I don't intend to get bored. >_>;; I'll continue putting up new chapters, like, every few days. Maybe I'll just fuck it and post them as I write them later, because I hate waiting, but for now I'm trying this. 
> 
> In any case, I hope you guys are ready for this shit. Chapter six is my favorite one so far. ;)))
> 
> Tell me what you think and what you want to see more of!! I really do listen to you guys as often as possible. You rock my socks!!!


	5. Chapter 5

A Lydia Martin party was set apart from lesser parties by a few key elements. Firstly, a pool. Secondly, boundless alcohol. And thirdly, everyone was too afraid of Lydia to break anything.

 

These parties were legendary.

 

Stiles felt like a chauffeur as he pulled up to the curb. Scott leapt out of car as soon as it rolled to a stop and gallantly opened the door for Allison, who extricated herself with a flash of dimples. Stiles got out by himself, grumbling about shitty best friends who didn’t even wait around to open the door for their designated drivers.

 

He headed towards the backyard in the wake of the lovebirds, intent on finding a soda or something before- _shudder_ \- socializing. No doubt Lydia would have invited all of the Beacon Hills High social elite and perhaps three-fourths of the less deplorable jocks. And Jackson. But perhaps there were some normal folks Stiles could talk to, instead of morosely following Scott and Allison around.

 

Right, this was why he didn’t go to parties. All of this. The girls in too much makeup and teetery heels that would be ditched by the end of the night, trying to look adult and casting sly looks at the guys. The guys, loudly half-drunk already, whipping off their tee shirts and doing cannonballs- Stiles’ right half was soaked as he edged by in his quest for non-alcoholic beverages. The loud music and fake laughter and slurred assertions of ‘I’m totally sober! I’m not drunk, you’re drunk!’ The jaded college students who always seemed to hang around the edges of these affairs, quietly playing cards and rolling their eyes at the high school antics.

 

Coke in hand, Stiles searched for Lydia, figuring he may as well lie and tell her it was a great party while he could still stand to say the words. Not that he was having a terrible time, it just wasn’t really his scene. Maybe if he were a little smoother, a little better at talking to people-

 

He found Lydia tucked into a corner, practically occupying the same space as Jackson as they swapped spit. Stiles backed gently away. He’d talk to Lydia later.

 

He found Danny, beer in hand, sizing up some of the half-naked jocks who were splashing around in the pool.

 

“I’m trying the fuck everyone on the football team before I graduate,” he shouted in Stiles’ ear. “Maybe that one male cheerleader too.”

 

Stiles tapped his coke against Danny’s beer. “Best of luck with that, man.”

 

He moved on, past the hipsters with their awful microbrewery beer, whatever that was, and waved away the smoke of their black clove cigarettes. They gave him a condescending stare and he gave them a pleasant smile.

 

He ended up inside, ass planted firmly in the square foot of space available on a velvet loveseat while he tried not to jog anyone else’s drinks, and tried to keep drinking his coke, and tried to think of something to say, and tried not to think of how sweaty and humid it was with all of the gyrating bodies in here compared to outside.

 

“Hey,” someone shouted from beside him, and he looked over.

 

“Hey. Uh, Erica, right?” He offered her his hand in the tight space and she shook it.

 

“That’s right. You’re Stiles, I think. Sheriff’s kid?”

 

“Yeah. You, uh, you look great.”

 

She smiled. “Lydia lent me some clothes and did my makeup.”

 

“Oh,” Stiles was suddenly awkward. “I didn’t realize you were close with her.”

 

Erica played with the tab on her soda. “We used to be. Once we got to high school she shed most of her loser friends and made new loser friends who were more popular.” Erica smiled, trying to take the sting out of the words. “She kept me, though.”

 

“You’re not a loser,” Stiles said, uncomfortable.

 

“Oh, please,” Erica scoffed.

 

“No more than I am,” Stiles amended.

 

“We should start a club,” she said solemnly. “Losers anonymous.” She raised her soda and Stiles tapped his against hers.

 

“To the meek,” he toasted. “May we inherit the earth.”

 

As they both drank, a hair-raising wail split the air. It went on and on until everyone around them had fallen silent, shocked. Stiles was on his feet, pushing people out of the way before he knew what he was doing.

 

He found Lydia huddled in the bathroom, normally smooth hair wild, choking and sobbing, clutching at the sink. Stiles had to push his way through the people who were crowding the door, trying to see what was happening.

 

Stiles firmly shut the door on them with an apologetic smile and a, “She’ll be right out.”

 

He faced Lydia, who was huddled over the sink, shoulders shaking, face now hidden in her hands. He guided her gently, seating her on the closed toilet seat and taking hold of her wrists to pull them away from her face.

 

“It’s okay, Lydia. It’s alright. Please talk to me. What is it?” Where he touched her, he felt her panic and confusion.

 

“Stiles?” She had moved her fingers away from her face enough so that Stiles could see her ruined makeup, her eyelashes gummed together by tears. Stiles quickly slid his hands down to hold hers.

 

“Yeah, Lydia. It’s me. What’s happening? Are you okay?”

 

“I saw, in the mirror,” she was taking great gulps of air, tears streaming down her face. Stiles didn’t think he had seen her look like this _ever_.

 

“What was it?”

 

“A _face_.”

 

Stiles frowned. “If you were looking in the mirror-”

 

“Not _my_ face, idiot,” she snapped, and _that_ sounded right. She must be on her way to calming down.

 

“Then whose?”

 

Lydia waved a hand vaguely over one shoulder. “He was standing behind me. And his face was all s-scarred and _burning_. He smiled and reached for me.” She gulped, fresh tears in her eyes. “I was so scared. When I turned around, he wasn’t there.”

 

Stiles stood up and examined the mirror over the sink. He even opened the medicine cabinet to take a look at the back of the panel. No sigils, no stray leaves or papers. Nothing that would induce a hallucination, and Lydia didn’t seem high or drunk.

 

But just to be sure. “Could someone have slipped you something?”

 

Lydia shook her head. She seemed to be pulling herself together through sheer force of will. She stood up and brusquely replaced Stiles in front of the mirror, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and dabbing at her eyes. “Can’t let people see me like this,” she muttered. “Can you hand me that pouch?”

 

Stiles identified the pink and green zippered bag Lydia was indicating and passed it over. In a matter of minutes, Lydia had removed her makeup and skillfully reapplied it. She blew her nose and forced a smile. Stiles’ well of respect for her, if possible, deepened.

 

“How do I look?” She asked, turning to him.

 

He hadn’t expected her to seek his opinion. “Uh, great. As usual.” He gave her a thumbs-up. “Like a million bucks.”

 

She gave him a sidelong look and sniffed. “Just because you’ve seen me like this doesn’t mean you have a chance with me, Stilinski.”

 

“Your lowly servant would never presume such a thing, your highness.” Luckily, his sarcasm seemed to amuse rather than offend her, and she smiled.

 

“Then you have my leave, squire.”

 

Stiles bowed exaggeratedly. “My humblest thanks, excellency.”

 

He unlocked the door, slipping out into a crowd that seemed to have forgotten all about Lydia and had resumed its drinking, grinding, and various other temptations of the flesh.

 

“Huh, strobe lights,” he remarked to Lydia as she slipped out of the bathroom behind him, yielding it to a gaggle of girls who were shrieking and carrying lethal-looking shoes.

 

For the second time in ten minutes, her face whitened. She started pushing people out of the way. “Move,” she snapped.

 

Stiles followed her, admiring the way she parted the crowd.

 

The crowd that had stopped dancing, although the music still pounded loud enough to make Stiles’ teeth hurt.

 

The crowd that was gathered in a circle around three figures, seated on the floor.

 

What was going on?

 

\---

 

“Someone turn that fucking strobe light off,” Allison snapped, and there was a surging in the crowd as someone complied. Allison gave Scott a significant look. “Can you get these people out of here? Give us the room?”

 

He sprang up from beside her and took hold of the nearest guy he recognized. It turned out to be Jackson, but he barely cared at that point. Together, they sheparded the onlookers outside, leaving Allison more or less alone with the blonde girl, who was still convulsing, her head in Allison’s lap.

 

Someone turned the music down to a manageable volume, and Allison looked up to see Stiles, Lydia, and Scott kneeling with her.

 

Stiles was on the phone, giving Lydia’s address, requesting an ambulance.

 

Lydia was asking Allison what happened, but from the look on her face, she already knew.

 

“Seizure,” Allison said, and Lydia closed her eyes, her nails biting into her own palms.

 

“You know what to do?”

 

“Yeah.” Allison went through the checklist. “Put something soft on her head, turn her on her side, clear her airway if need be, but don’t put anything in her mouth or around her neck, get others to back off, and stick around until she wakes up in case she doesn’t know what’s going on.” Allison slid her hand down the girl’s wrist and held it up. “She has a medical bracelet. Epilepsy. Do you know her?”

 

“Yeah,” Lydia looked wretched. “Erica. We’re friends.”

 

“You should go with her to the hospital,” Stiles said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Scott and I can clean up here and get people headed toward home.” Lydia cast him a grateful look as he patted Scott on the shoulder. “C’mon, Scotty.” Scott got up with a worried look at Allison before trooping back outside. Stiles hesitated before stooping quickly, pulling something from around his own neck and looping the cord around Erica’s slack hand, tucking the pendant into her palm. “For strength,” he muttered, before getting up and jogging after Scott.

 

Allison looked at Lydia, who seemed close to tears.

 

“I knew she was epileptic. I don’t know who brought the strobe lights, but-”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Allison interrupted. “This could have happened anywhere.”

 

Lydia swallowed and didn’t answer.

 

They waited together for the EMTs.

 

\---

 

Derek was roused from sleep by the sound of people whispering on his front porch. What _now?_

 

“You’d better have a damn good reason for being here at nearly three in the morning,” he growled.

 

Scott and Stiles looked back at him, deadly serious. They smelled like smoke and chlorine and seemed far too sober to be bothering him like this.

 

“We need to talk.”

 

\---

 

Scott had never been inside Derek’s house before, but he took it in stride, seating himself on the couch beside Stiles.

 

“What’s going on?” Derek asked. Their tense silence was pretty effective in waking him up the rest of the way. For once there were no jokes between them.

 

Scott and Stiles exchanged a look. Stiles went first. “A friend of mine saw something tonight,” he said. “In the mirror. She said she saw a face looking over her shoulder. I couldn’t find any residual spell casting stuff, but I don’t know, it could be something.”

 

“Maybe she was high,” Derek said, rubbing his face, but Stiles shook his head.

 

“No. Just because I couldn’t find anything doesn’t mean it wasn’t magic.”

 

“Well the timing is peculiar, I’ll grant you that.”

 

Stiles twisted his fingers in his lap. “This girl is pretty level-headed,” he said. “If something’s spooked her, it’s probably something real.”

 

“Seeing faces where there are none is usually horror-movie fodder for most people,” Derek pointed out.

 

Stiles tsked, standing up to pace. “Don’t dismiss this out-of hand.”

 

“What do you want me to do about it?” Derek snapped back. “A face in a mirror isn’t a lot to go on.”

 

Stiles chewed his lip. “It just seemed important.”

 

“Not every weird or freaky thing around here is magic,” Scott said quietly, and Stiles turned on him.

 

“I know.”

 

“Do you?” Scott’s gaze was steady.

 

“You didn’t _see_ her, Scott.”

 

“You know,” Derek said thoughtfully, “If she saw a face, she might recognize it if she saw it again. That might give you a lead.”

 

Stiles looked at him, surprised and grateful. “That’s actually a pretty good idea.”

 

Derek startled them all by yawning so wide his jaw cracked. “Why did you have to come to me with this in the middle of the night?” He groused, rubbing a hand over his unshaven face.

 

“Um.” Stiles bit his lip. “I guess… we didn’t really have to…”

 

Derek looked at Scott. “So this is payback?”

 

“For you creeping outside my window at night? No, but it should be. Neither of us is going to be able to sleep tonight, so I just figured it was easier to come to you now.” Scott held Derek’s gaze steadily. “Have you had any luck finding the rogue wolf?”

 

Derek shook his head. “I don’t understand it. It’s not like Beacon Hills is crawling with wolves. The only places I’ve found the smell of one apart from you and me are the sites of the attacks, like they stalk their prey as a human and only turn at the last minute.”

 

“And you can’t track their human scent?”

 

Derek shrugged helplessly. “They attack in well-trafficked areas. I can’t pick out the scent of a single human when I don’t know what I’m searching for, and I can’t exactly search for a scent that changes to wolf at a certain point. That’s not how it works.”

 

“Okay,” Scott ran his fingers through his hair. He seemed to be hardening his resolve. “I’m not sure how you expect me to be able to help, but I want you to train me. Teach how to transform safely. Then I’ll do what I can to help you find the alpha.”

 

Derek grimaced. “We’ll have to move fast to beat the hunters. But you’ll probably find you’re a quick study. And if I find the alpha and kill them-?”

 

Scott and Stiles exchanged another look. “We have another person you may want to offer the bite to. Someone who needs it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scott’s Resolve used Harden!
> 
> The thick plotens. 
> 
> Okay so I'm shitty at waiting between putting up chapters, so here's the next one. If you enjoyed it and/or there's something you want to see in this fic, please considering leaving a comment. You commenters are a million bucks. '3' Chiao!!


	6. Chapter 6

“Take off the amulet.” Derek folded his arms. They were alone in the woods, miles from town.

 

Stiles had wanted to come too. _“I’m his best friend! I was there when he knocked out his first tooth jumping off the jungle gym and I want to be there the first time he turns into a wolf! Wait, that was weird…”_ But Derek had utterly refused.

 

 _“I’ll tell you how it goes afterwards,”_ Scott had promised, and they had left Stiles to sulk.

 

Scott took a deep breath and pulled the thin cord over his head, stuffing the silver charm into his pocket.

 

Nothing changed. He didn’t feel any different. He squinted at Derek. “That was disappointing.”

 

Derek gave him a _look_ with some expressive eyebrow choreography. “Do you want me to teach you how to turn or not?”

 

“Yeah,” Scott said. “And the healing thing.”

 

“That’s not as urgent, but sure, when we finish.”

 

“You tried to heal Stiles.”

 

“He was having a panic attack. He punched me.” Derek narrowed his eyes. “You’re deflecting.”

 

Scott shifted from foot to foot. “I really thought I’d feel different when I took the amulet off.” He straightened his back and managed to keep still. “Alright, how does this work?”

 

Derek considered him for a minute. “I’ve never had to teach someone this before,” he said finally. “Most wolves have turned at least once on their own by the time they reach this point after being bitten.”

 

“Well sor- _ry_ ,” Scott snapped.

 

“Just wondering how to begin. Would it help if you saw the transformation first?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe?”

 

Derek turned and walked away from Scott. Scott wondered if he was supposed to follow, but Derek had already stopped, putting some distance between them. As Scott watched, Derek shook his head, hard. When he looked at Scott again, his eyes had gone blue, his ears pointed, and hair had spread down his face. He opened his mouth in a snarl, and Scott stumbled back.

 

Then Derek ran at him and leapt, his body streamlining and elongating in midair, new hair shimmering in the forest light. Scott tripped over a tree root as he tried to back up, and Derek’s front paws caught him in the chest.

 

He landed on his back with a 250-pound wolf on top of him and the air whooshed out of him. Derek made no move to get off, just sat down and snuffled at Scott’s face.

 

“Derek,” Scott gasped. “You’re crushing me.”

 

The wolf leapt off of him, digging its back nails in painfully as it did. By the time Scott sat up, Derek was standing beside him, offering him a hand. Scott took it, rubbing his chest with his other hand, and let Derek help him to his feet.

 

“That was so fucking cool.”

 

Derek smiled. “Your turn.”

 

“What?” Scott squawked. “I don’t even know how you did that!”

 

“Think real hard about turning into a wolf.”

 

“You are literally the worst teacher I’ve ever had,” Scott huffed.

 

“Relax, I’m kidding. There’s a couple of ways you can do this. You can tap into your most fundamental emotions: simple pleasures, grief, anger, fear, etc. Or you can try running, focusing on the physicality of it. Or I could chase you if you want. A combination of fear and running might do it.” He cracked a dangerous smile.

 

“No, that’s okay,” Scott said hastily. “I still don’t really get what I’m supposed to be doing, though.”

 

“The first time is going to be the hardest. After that, you’ll probably get the hang of it.”

 

“Like riding a bicycle,” Scott said under his breath.

 

“More like transforming into a bicycle.”

 

“I just meant- never mind.” Scott sat down on the forest floor, shifting as leaves crunched and twigs snagged. He focused. First on his breathing, then on his body. He listened to the birds, to the rustle of the breeze through the trees’ leaves. How exciting it was, to know he was hearing more now than he would ever have been able to before. And the forest had a scent, too, he realized. Earthy, like the stink of living things and the sweet smell of rotting.

 

He opened his eyes, and saw Derek looking at him approvingly. His eyes were blue once more, his ears pointed.

 

“You’re hallway there.” Derek’s voice sounded harsh and guttural. He snapped razor teeth at Scott, shifting his weight. “Now _run.”_

 

Scott was up in an instant, hurtling through the forest, looking wildly over his shoulder at his pursuer.

 

Derek was nearly silent as he bounded after Scott, a sleek black wolf once more. Scott yelped and plunged forward, pushing himself, putting his hands out in front of him, using them to propel himself even faster over the ground, barely registering the way his muscles rearranged themselves, the way his spectrum of visibility seemed to subtly shift.

 

Derek pounced on him, rolling him over and fixing his teeth in the loose skin across his throat. Scott whined and licked Derek’s muzzle until Derek released him and shifted back to human. Scott rolled himself over to stand on all four paws, shaking himself like a dog emerging from water until he looked up at Derek, human once more.

 

Derek was grinning. “See? Like riding a bicycle.”

 

\---

 

“Next time we’re doing this at my house,” Stiles muttered, rummaging in his pockets for a pen. “All of my notes are there. And props! I have props.”

 

Derek laid a hand over one of Stiles’, and the latter went still. Derek hadn’t willingly touched him since Stiles had been having a panic attack. His face burned as he remembered the feeling of Derek’s warm, strong hands cradling his face, anchoring him, driving back his confusion and leaving him clear-headed and giddy. He chanced a glance at Derek, who, for some reason, also looked embarrassed. He quickly removed his hand, in any case.

 

“You can listen this time, if it’s easier, and next time I’ll throw myself on the mercy of your notes and your props.”

 

Stiles snorted. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

 

Derek clutched at imaginary pearls. “I would never,” he said, scandalized.

 

Stiles laughed, and even Derek grinned, relaxing ever so slightly. “Alright, tough guy,” Stiles said, flipping to a blank page in the notebook he had begun filling with his own experiments and findings. “Lay it on me.”

 

Derek leaned back on his hands and tilted his head back. On the pretext of hanging on his every word, Stiles got to _watch_ him, laid out in the sunlight, in the backyard of the Hale house, among the budding trees, where Derek always looked most natural.

 

“What do you want to know?”

 

“Oh, god, everything,” Stiles breathed, and Derek shot him an approving look.

 

“Well alright. Do you know the myth of Lycan?”

 

Stiles’ pen was poised over the clean page. “Enlighten me.”

 

\---

 

“I’m really, really sorry, Deaton. I know it’s last minute, but I promised my friend Isaac I would hang out with him today and I know that sounds terrible but-”

 

“Scott, slow down. I told you last Friday that it was fine if you left early today, you really don’t need to keep apologizing.”

 

Scott’s hand went automatically to the amulet, which he still wore almost all of the time. Better safe than sorry. “Right.”

 

Deaton tilted his head, curious. “What’s that you’re playing with? I’ve seen you wearing it before, and I keep meaning to ask.”

 

“Oh, this? Just a necklace that Stiles gave me.”

 

“Do you mind if I take a look at it? It looks like real silver.”

 

Scott’s hesitation was written plain across his face, but he removed the pendant, handing it over without protest.

 

As soon as Deaton touched it, he knew what it was. He looked at Scott, who was trying not to fidget. So, a new wolf in town. And by extension, a new alpha. And a witch, with some raw talent in the charm-making department, too. Curiouser and curiouser.

 

Deaton looked back at the charm, tracing the concentric circles. “This is an interesting design.”

 

Scott shuffled his feet. “Stiles really knows me, I guess.” He placed his index and middle fingers on the steel examining table and with them, traced the two circles, the large orbiting the small. “It’s something I’ve done ever since I was a kid.”

 

Deaton handed the pendant back. “You take care of that. I was right, it is real silver.” _And take care of yourself, too. The way things are looking you’re going to need it._

 

\---

 

After the disastrous events of last Saturday, Lydia had utterly refused to let Erica sit by herself in the library, as she was accustomed to doing during lunch period.

 

“Anyone makes you uncomfortable and they will have to answer to _me,_ ” Lydia had said, eyes blazing, and wow, that was really sweet… so sweet…

 

Erica looked calmly at Lydia while a tiny Erica screamed a tiny scream from the tip-top of a tiny mountain in the distance. She was so fucked. So gay and so, so, fucked. Who knew the key to her demiromantic little heart was waking up in a hospital next to the girl she had been following around since middle school, a girl who had been bending over her in an instant, flawless makeup the _tiniest_ bit smudged, fiery hair brushing the sheets that were drawn mortuary-tight across Erica’s body-?

 

“Right,” Erica said slowly.

 

This was more or less her nightmare. When she sat down in the seat Lydia had saved for her, everyone at the table fell silent. They had all been at the party. They had all seen.

 

“Hiya, folks,” Erica muttered. “It’s murder time.”

 

No one heard her. They all, as one, pointedly turned away again, leaning forward ever so slightly to continue their conversations and to make it clear that Erica did _not_ belong here, and was _not_ welcome.

 

Lydia brushed a hand up Erica’s arm as she stood, and Erica felt goosebumps rise on her skin, her face impossibly warm. “See?” Lydia murmured in her ear. “Not so bad.” Erica was left looking helplessly after Lydia as she left to get a bottle of water.

 

As she craned her neck to keep the other girl in sight, she became aware of a far less welcome presence at her shoulder. She turned, hand going automatically to clench around the pendant she wore. Lydia had told her whose it was, and though Erica had offered to return it to Stiles, he had refused. She was dubious about the whole crystals-and-voodoo thing, but appreciated the gesture all the same, and had worn it faithfully for the last few days. Now she hung on to it like it would give her the strength to not punch Jackson Fuckface Whittemore.

 

“So I saw you at the party on Saturday,” Jackson said, and Hell. No. “Got to say, I dig your dance moves. Can you teach me sometime?”

 

Erica smiled at Jackson. It was laugh or cry time, and she hadn’t done the latter in public since she was thirteen and figured out that other kids saw tears like sharks smelled blood in the water.

 

“Did it take you the whole walk over here to think of that one? Pathetic. You didn’t even call me a freak or an attention-seeking faker.” She sniffed, simulating affront. “D- for effort, because I’m in a generous mood.” She saw Lydia approaching out of the corner of her eye and suddenly couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t smile and make nice with these toxic assholes, not even for Lydia. She stood up quickly, gathering her bag and her lunch tray.

 

“And for the record, if you couldn’t figure out my ‘dance moves’ yourself, you must be dumber than I thought. It’s pretty easy, you see. All you have to do is have an inhibiting disability that leads to a lifetime of bullying and confidence-crushing, realize that no one in the world will ever accommodate you because they’re too inconsiderate to remember that one of the hostess’ friends has a disability, succumb to a mortifying display of what is often construed as weakness in _public_ in front of your peers, instead of in the relative safety and privacy of your own home, get rushed to the hospital, and then have to kiss ass at school later so as not to get stepped on.” Erica reached out and playfully pushed at Jackson’s chest. “But a big strong guy like you doesn’t need dance lessons from little old me to get the girls, right? All you have to do is smile vapidly for the camera and you’re set for life. So go enjoy your good health and your bad decisions, because I wouldn’t trade my life for yours in a million years you self-obsessed, small-dicked piece of shit.”

 

It was only then that Erica became aware that every eye in the room was on her. She was pretty sure that in the seconds of silence after her breathless tirade, someone cheered.

 

Lydia was by her side at that point, her newly-purchased water in hand. “Oh, Jackson?” Lydia said, tossing her perfect hair over one shoulder and giving the coyest, most dangerous smile Erica had ever seen. “I want to show you a magic trick.”

 

“Wh-”

 

Lydia squeezed the bottle in her hand, splashing water all over Jackson’s face and down the front of his shirt.

 

“Poof, you’re single.”

 

The whole lunchroom rioted.

 

In the confusion, Lydia grabbed her things and looped an arm possessively through Erica’s. “Let’s go.” They left Jackson standing there, sopping wet and stunned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8))) (My favorite chapter)
> 
> Okay so, I know only alphas or true alphas or whatever whatever inconsistent are the only ones who can turn into real wolves in the show, but consider this: fight me.
> 
> Also I know some people like to redeem Jackson and make him like a tolerable douchebag.... clearly I am not one of those people.....


	7. Chapter 7

“Healing’s not that hard,” Scott explained to Stiles. They were lounging around on the couch, supposedly doing homework. “Tracking people is way harder.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Stiles replied, distracted. Frowning at the printouts in front of him, he uncapped a highlighter and scribbled ‘What the fuck??’ in the margin.

 

Stiles clamped the back end of the highlighter between his teeth as he rummaged through his disaster of a backpack. He tried to say something, but gave up when his words came out garbled.

 

“What? Take the pen out of your mouth, then talk.”

 

Stile spat out the highlighter and recapped it with a prissy snap. “I _said_ , ‘what’s tracking like?’”

 

Scott scrunched up his face. “It’s weird. You have to be really sensitive to the nuances of similar smells. Derek says eventually you can get good enough to tell how old a scent trail is. It’s a good thing it hasn’t rained too much lately, because that tends to sort of wash things out.”

 

“No wonder dogs get so excited to go outside after a storm,” Stile mused.

 

“Hey! I’m no dog,” Scott said indignantly, shoving Stiles with a bare foot.

 

“Of course you’re not. Now go fetch me some water, will you?”

 

Scott stood up, glowering. “Only because I’m such a nice friend.”

 

“Arf, arf.”

 

“Fine. Get your own damn water.”

 

“Aw, no! Come back!”

 

\---

 

“Okay, so these are all charms.” Stiles shoved the box at Derek, who took it, bemused.

 

Stiles avoided looking at him. Doing this at his place had been one of his worse ideas. The problem was that Derek looked so _right_ here, like he could easily slide into Stiles’ life without him even noticing, between shelves of hardcovers Stiles had stolen from school and the messy stacks of printouts by his desk.

 

Boundaries. How he missed them. Derek had put down the box and was watching Stiles dart around like a deranged rabbit, and he was looking _amused_ , damn him.

 

“You can slow down, you know.” Derek said mildly. “We’ve got time.”

 

“We only have a week, in case you’ve forgotten,” Stiles snapped.

 

Derek’s face clouded with anxiety. “I know.”

 

“ _Do_ you?”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

With a great effort, Stiles stopped pacing. “How’s the search going?”

 

Derek grimaced. “Not well. No new leads.”

 

“I wonder if the hunters have any leads.” By the look on Derek’s face, Stiles would have done better not to speak. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

 

“To pick at old scabs?” Derek shuddered. “Every time I remember that they’re in town, I _know_ that Kate is just a phone call away. Even if I can’t square this rogue thing by myself, I just really do not want them here. It’s like flashing back to being fifteen and wondering what the hell I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”

 

“You’re not alone anymore.”

 

Derek pulled an anguished face. “This isn’t your fight, or Scott’s. The only reason I even asked for his help is because I’m desperate.”

 

“And yet here you are.” Stiles gestured at the out-of-date posters on his walls, the mess of clothes and books and papers, of cords and precariously perched bowls of water, of jars of crystals and lurid potted plants, and Derek, in the middle of it all.

 

Derek heaved a haggard sigh and stood up. “You’re right. I should be out there, looking, instead of… whatever it is we’ve been doing.”

 

“Hanging out? Gathering intel? Don’t forget, you may very well be the key to me finding out more about my mom. I’m in this for selfish reasons, too.” Stiles’ heart squeezed painfully. _If only you knew just how selfish my real reasons are_.

 

Derek shook his head. “I’ve told you everything I know about her. I’m sorry.”

 

Stiles made an anguished noise as Derek made his way to the door. “Please don’t go. There’s more than this alpha thing at stake. What about Lydia’s vision? I still haven’t asked her about it. And you should have seen her in school the other day.”

 

“Oh? What did she do?” Derek seemed interested despite himself.

 

“Oh man, it was Erica, actually, the girl who Scott and I are hoping you’ll offer the bite to.”

 

“Ri-ight.”

 

“Anyway, she _totally_ slam-dunked this asshole who was ripping on her, and then _Lydia-_ ” As Stiles recounted the story, Derek slowly took his hand off of the doorknob, even laughing as Stiles imitated Jackson’s stupefied expression.

 

“I like this girl already. She definitely sounds like pack material.”

 

“So you’re considering it?”

 

“One thing at a time. I can’t even offer her the bite, or that other kid.”

 

“Not _yet_.”

 

Derek’s lips tightened. “I have a week.”

 

“No, _we_ do. You, me, and Scott. Right?”

 

Derek was silent.

 

“Derek,” Stiles admonished, “I thought we were moving past this whole ‘shutting people out’ gig.”

 

“Sorry.” Derek cracked an apologetic smile and Stile felt his heart melt. “Force of habit.”

 

“So?”

 

“Yeah,” Derek said reluctantly. “All of us.”

 

Stiles stepped over the mess of his floor and caught ahold of Derek’s hand. Although Derek’s expression was hard to read, his overwhelming gratitude seeping through the point of contact was anything but.

 

\---

 

“Scott,” Stiles whispered. Over the crackle of bad reception, he heard Scott yawn.

 

“Why couldn’t you have texted me? It’s,” pause, “One in the morning! What the hell, man?”

 

“Sorry, Scotty. Couldn’t sleep.”

 

Scott’s sigh was a rush of static. “What is it? As if I couldn’t guess.”

 

Stiles took the phone away from his face. Looked around his room for inspiration. But in the end, he couldn’t lie to Scott, had never been able to lie to Scott. “Derek.”

 

“Fucking knew it.” Scott’s voice was resigned. “Do you know he asked me if you were single?”

 

“What?” Stiles sat up a little straighter, heart in his throat, “Why?”

 

“Presumably because he was wondering if you were single, Stiles.”

 

“Okay but, that’s not the point.”

 

“Then what’s the point?”

 

Stiles kneaded at his forehead. “I think I’ve got it bad.”

 

“Wow, no kidding?” Scott’s sarcasm was caustic, even over the phone.

 

Stiles groaned and flopped back on his bed.

 

“No, you don’t understand. It’s _bad_ bad. I keep picturing us, like, choosing how to decorate our first house together, naming our children together, that kind of stuff. I want to hold his hand. I want _him_ to want me to hold his hand. I even like him when he’s distant and moody and annoying.” Stiles took a deep breath. “And I’m so worried I’m going to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, and he’s going to shut me out again,” he admitted softly.

 

“And here I was braced for a graphic description of your woodsman fantasies.”

 

“I also want him to throw me down and fuck me senseless, but I figured that was kind of a given.”

 

“Arg! Oversharing, dude!”

 

“Sorry, sorry.” Stiles picked morosely as a loose thread in his comforter. “What should I do?”

 

“’Fess up.”

 

“Be serious for a minute,” he hissed.

 

“I am being serious. Tell him how you feel. He asked me if you were _single_.”

 

“Probably because he was confirming what a loser I am.”

 

“Being single doesn’t make you a loser. Trust me, you should just talk to him.”

 

“Really? With all this shit going on?”

 

“You always do this Stiles.” Scott sounded sharp. “‘The time isn’t right. It’s finals season. If they say no we’d have to awkwardly see each other in the halls all of senior year.’ Just go for it, for once. Is what you stand to lose more than you stand to gain?”

 

“What if he laughs at me?” The whisper slips out of him in the not-quite-dark darkness of his room. The soft edges and surfaces of the clutter of his personal space are lit by the ambient glow of a nearby streetlight. All was blue and gray and shadowy, and Derek was here just a few hours ago, here in his room, by his side, and Stiles had told him his secrets. Derek had pulled ropes of answers out of him, examined his lifestyle and his methods and his experiences and had not disparaged them, had handled them, had handled _him_ with respect, because he knew where they came from and what was more, he _cared_.

 

“Then he’s not worth your time.”

 

“What if I can’t move on?”

 

“You will.” How was it that Scott could sound so old? Still stoking the flames of his first love, for a girl whose allegiance they couldn’t even be sure of, and yet he managed to sound like he _knew_ , and Stiles had to trust him, because if he couldn’t trust Scott, he was in sorry shape indeed.

 

“Maybe once this rogue alpha thing is through.”

 

Scott made a soft, impatient noise. “I don’t know why you bother asking for my opinion if you don’t want my advice.”

 

“Because someone’s gotta slap some sense into me, and you’re the only one who picks up my one am calls.”

 

Scott groaned. “Go to sleep. Derek will still be tall, dark, and infuriating tomorrow.”

 

\---

 

“Lydia, do you have a minute?”

 

She slammed her locker shut and turned, her face softening slightly when she saw who it was. “Now that I’m single, I can spare a few. Walk with me.”  


Stiles had to quick-march to keep up with her. How did a tiny girl in three-inch heels manage to walk so damn fast? He guessed it was good practice for when Lydia would one day be a CEO, micromanaging the shit out of everyone and efficiently firing the weakest links.

 

As they went, Stiles fumbled the papers he had brought out of his bag. “Okay, so these are records of all of the burn victims in Beacon Hills in the last ten years whose faces I could find.”

 

Lydia grimaced, glancing at the grainy black-and-white pictures. “And why are you showing me these?”

 

“I thought that the face that you saw the night of the party might have been someone who you’d seen around before but not remembered? Like the way you don’t recognize faces in dreams, but people say they’re all people you’ve seen?”

 

Lydia’s hands tightened on the strap of her bag. “Where did you even get those?” she asked, speeding up a little, eyes averted.

 

“It helps when you’re dad’s the sheriff and your best friend’s mom works at Beacon Hills Medical. Can you stop for a second? It could be nothing, but I just want you to take a look at these.”

 

Lydia stopped, but didn’t take the papers. “Look, I’m flattered that you still believe me or whatever, but just drop it, okay? Pretend it never happened.”

 

Stiles deflated. “But it could be important,” he bleated. “Are you sure you don’t remember the guy’s face at all?”

 

Lydia shuddered. “Oh, I remember him.”

 

“What did he look like?”

 

Lydia’s lips tightened. “Like that.” She pointed, not at any of Stiles’ pictures, but at something inside of the old high school hall of fame case they had stopped beside.

 

Stile leaned forward eagerly. It was one of those vintage photos with the rows of serious-looking faces. The one that Lydia was indicating looked vaguely familiar.

 

“Hang on, Stiles said slowly. “I think that guy’s in here.” Shuffling through his papers, he triumphantly extracted one. “Yes! Room 258. No name. Was admitted eight years ago. Is this him?”

 

When Stiles turned to show Lydia the picture, however, she was backed up against the bank of lockers, looking askance.

 

“Lydia?”

 

“Don’t _touch_ me,” she snapped.

 

“What are you talking about? I’m all the way over-”

 

“I said _don’t TOUCH_ _ME!”_ Lydia’s eyes were fixed on the glass of the display case.

“O-kay,” Stiles said, pulling out his phone. “I’m calling Scott. You just hang tight until-”

 

Lydia started to scream.

 

\---

 

“You’re sure Lydia’s okay?” Scott asked anxiously.

 

Stiles shook his head, griping the steering wheel a little tighter than he normally would have. “No idea. But she wouldn’t let me drive her home. You should have seen the look on her face, man.”

 

“You called Derek, right?”

 

“Yeah, he’s meeting us at the hospital.”

 

“How disappointed are you going to be if we get there and find an old comatose guy who has nothing to do with any of this?”

 

“Very disappointed. And extremely suspicious.”

 

They drove in silence.

 

Derek was waiting for them by the front entrance. They exchanged brusque greetings before all going in together. As arranged, Scott smiled at the woman at the front desk and held up a plastic takeout bag. “Just bringing this to my mom.”

 

The woman waved them through, and they waited until they were out of sight of the front desk before they broke into what was just not a sprint.

 

“What room number was it?” Derek asked.

 

“258,” Stiles replied tersely. “Long-term care.”

 

Derek’s face was troubled. “That can’t be right.”

 

They stopped at the door, exchanging looks. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Scott slip his amulet into his pocket. Derek’s hands were balled into fists and there was a hard look in his eyes. Stiles caught his gaze and nodded. Derek nodded back.

 

He opened the door.

 

The room was empty.

 

“Huh,” Scott said. “Maybe they took him for tests or something.”

 

“I don’t think so.” Derek strode forward, running his hand along the back of the wheelchair that was parked by the window.

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

Derek turned around with a strained look. “This is my Uncle Peter’s room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because no one saw that coming. :P
> 
> Shoutout to my fantastic readers who have been commenting on these chapters <3 You light up my life.


	8. Chapter 8

“Your-” Stiles’ mind was reeling. _Huh, I_ thought _that guy was a looker._

 

“So he’s the alpha.” Derek and Stiles looked at Scott.

 

“No.” Derek was shaking. “No, I can’t accept that.”

 

Scott strode over to the bed and yanked the pillowcase free. “Then find him and prove that he’s not. But considering the weird shit that’s been going on, I think we should get going _right now_ , because if he’s not the rogue alpha, then maybe the real one has him. And if he is, maybe he has someone else.”

 

Scott sniffed the pillowcase, admittedly one of the weirder things Stiles had ever seen him do, and then turned in a slow circle. He made his way to the door and made a sharp left, walking briskly, so that Stiles had to run to catch up. Derek padded softly beside him; he kept shaking his head in little jerky motions.

 

At last, they reached a fire door leading off of a cluttered supply room. Without speaking, Derek lifted a discarded pair of scrubs out of a hamper, holding it between the very tips of his fingers, as if he didn’t really want to touch it. Clipped to the front pocket was a nametag. Stiles didn’t get a chance to look at the picture, but Derek grimaced and dropped it. “It’s his.”

 

“This sounds like the setup for a bad joke,” Stiles complained. “A comatose burn victim wakes up, disguises himself as a doctor, and walks out of a heavily alarmed fire door.”  
  


“But what’s the punch line?” Scott mused. He was examining the door. Before either of the others could stop him, he put out a hand and gave the handle an experimental push. It swung open, and though Stiles braced himself, no alarm rang out.

 

“This is really happening, isn’t it?” Derek said faintly. He had gone pale. “Last time I visited Peter, he didn’t so much as move an eyelid. His nurse had started asking if I was sure I wanted to keep him alive, but I couldn’t- couldn’t let go-”

 

“This is _not_ your fault.” Stiles said firmly.

 

“It will be if another person gets attacked.” the harshness of Scott’s words startled him. “Why didn’t you recognize his scent?”

 

Derek shook his head.

 

“Listen,” Stiles said urgently. “We don’t know where this guy is, or what’s really going on. We need to _find_ him before anything else happens. Alright?”

 

But Scott was sizing Derek up. “Peter is his uncle. What if they’re in this together?”

 

Derek narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you put this on me. For all we know, Peter’s the one who bit you. Maybe _you’re_ working with him.”

 

“Yo!” Stiles clicked his fingers and there was a flash of light and a small bang. Cool. He would have time to be proud of that later. “Can we focus? Look, both of you trust me, right? And I trust both of you. So can we please get the hell out of here and find Peter before we start fighting each other?”

 

Derek reluctantly dragged his eyes away from Scott. “Fine.”

 

“Yeah, good. Okay.”

 

“Alrighty,” Stiles said under his breath. Pushing past Scott, he made his way through the still-open door. “If one of you expert trackers would be willing to pick up the scent, that would be awesome, since I’m not up to divining yet.”

 

\---

 

Following Peter’s path was infuriating. Once or twice, Stiles offered to go back and get his car so he could follow them more easily, but neither of the others replied. They climbed over garden fences, dashed across roads without waiting for streetlights to change, wandered in circles when they lost the trail.

 

It seemed to Stiles that Peter must be remarkably spry for a recent coma patient. This was starting to look a lot like a heat run: lots of random turns and doubling back.

 

Eventually though, Stiles noticed that they were working their way around to some of the sheeshier residential areas. “Uh, guys,” he said.

 

Stiles’ heart clenched as Scott and Derek’s heads jerked up in unison, staring. They took off together with Stiles trailing behind. As he watched, they flew around the corner of a house and out of sight.

 

Shit, he knew that house.

 

 

Stiles ran around to the back patio and tried the door. It was unlocked. Quietly, not knowing who was home, he slipped inside. He heard movement from upstairs and climbed the stairs, heart in his mouth. Lydia lay in a pool of blood, white as a sheet, barely breathing.

 

Scott was calling for an ambulance. Derek was peeling back the drenched collar of Lydia’s shirt. Stiles felt the bile rise in his throat and had to turn away, gagging.

 

“She’s been bitten,” he heard Derek say through the ringing in his ears. “But she’s not healing. I don’t think it’s gonna take.”

 

“Can that happen?” Stiles asked, swallowing. No one answered.

 

Scott hung up. “Now do you believe me?” Scott flung at Derek. The latter flinched.

 

“Stiles?” Lydia’s voice was weak, and Stiles wasn’t even aware of Derek as he shoved him aside to get to her.

 

“Shh, Lyds. The EMTs will be here soon.”

 

“Stiles, it was him.”

 

“I know, Lydia. Don’t worry. We’re going to stop him.”

 

“His face-”

 

“I know.”

 

“No, listen. His face wasn’t burned anymore.” Her voice trembled. “What’s going on?”

 

Stiles stroked Lydia’s hair, fighting down a sob when his fingers caught in the sticky red tangles. “I don’t even know anymore. But you’re going to be okay.” He looked around at Derek and Scott, who were ashen-faced. “Call me when you find him. I’ll wait with her.”

 

\---

 

“Nothing,” Scott said. He pushed open his bedroom door. “We looked for hours, but we lost him.” He dropped down on the edge of his bed to take his shoes off, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder. “Is Lydia okay?”

 

“Yeah she’s… Scott what the hell are we gonna do?”

 

Scott dragged a hand down his face. He was bone-tired. “I think we should call in the hunters.”

 

“Derek won’t like that.”

 

“Derek can go to hell.” Scott flopped onto his back. He heard something crackle. Frowning, he reached behind him.

 

There was a note on his pillow. He read it quickly and sat up. “Fuck.”

 

\---

 

“ _‘Meet me tonight. Midnight. You know the place. Leave my dear nephew and your human friend at home. -XOXO Peter’_ ” Derek rubbed his forehead. The three of them were crammed into Stiles’ bedroom, having a council of war.

 

“Midnight. That’s in three hours,” Stiles said. There was no room to pace, so he spun his desk chair around and around until Derek reached out and arrested his movement.

 

“Thanks, I know,” Scott snapped.

 

“You can’t honestly be thinking of going.”  
  


Scott threw up his hands. “He knows where I live! He probably knows mom works at the hospital! He knows about you and Derek and Lydia! Even if I don’t go, I can’t possibly protect all of you. And even if I could do _that_ , what about all of the other people he could hurt?”

 

“Scott, you’re not-”

 

“Alone?” He glared at Stiles, until his expression softened. He looked vulnerable, helpless. It struck Stiles that Scott was still new to this world, and no matter how strong he was now, he wasn’t strong enough to come out on top of an all-out fight with an alpha. And he knew it. “No, I’m not. There are lots of people that Peter can threaten to get me to do what he wants. But he doesn’t have to. Because I’ll be alone tonight when I meet with him.”

 

“ _Scott_ ,” Stiles began, but Derek put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. He was studying Scott.

 

“It’s not likely that Peter wants to hurt you. He’s already an alpha and, after all, he’s probably the one that bit you. He wants you for something. A new pack, maybe. But why?”

 

Scott set his jaw. “I’ll tell you tonight, after I meet with him.”

 

Stiles threw himself out of his desk chair and went rifling through his books, pulling out all of the magic ones and starting to make a pile on the bed. “You are _not_ going alone.”

 

“Stiles,” Scott tried to get him to stop, but Stiles shrugged him off, hunting up a ball of string and a marker. “Even if I was bringing someone with me, which I’m _not_ , I can’t risk you. You’re a human-”

 

“No I’m _not_ ,” Stiles snapped. “I’m a witch. And I’ve been doing this longer than you have, so shut up for a minute.” Scott was taken aback. Stiles took advantage of Scott’s silence to fix his eyes on Derek. “You are _not_ sending my best friend to kill your uncle.”

 

“I don’t want him to k-”

 

“Shut _up_! Yes you do. You know he has to, if you can’t bring yourself to do it, and you can’t have Peter hanging around attacking people. If it’s not tonight, it’ll have to be soon, to get to him before the hunters do. They’ve already taken most of your family, so you really need to be asking yourself right now who means more to you: an uncle who let you grieve for him for eight years while he plotted and schemed, or me and Scott. Because if you send Scott in alone, I can guarantee I will never speak to you again. Check my heartbeat and tell me I’m lying.”

 

Stiles couldn’t read Derek’s expression. He could have been thinking anything. “You’re not.”

 

“Alright.” Stiles stood up and started flipping through the books he had pulled out. “Scott, you know where the ladder to the attic is, right? Can you go up there and get me the box marked ‘Claudia’s books?’ I think it’s time I took a look at the more advanced set of these.” Scott nodded and left. Stiles suspected that if he had a tail at the moment, it would have been tucked between his legs.

 

As soon as he was gone, Stiles turned to Derek. “Take off your shoes and shirt.”

 

Derek gave him a weird look and Stiles sighed, some of the fire going out of his posture. “I’m going to layer you and me with stealth charms, okay? If this works, Peter won’t see or hear us coming, and we’ll be there for Scott if things get hairy, no pun intended.”

 

“If it works?”

 

“Do you have a better idea?” He demanded.

 

In answer, Derek toed his shoes off and pulled his shirt over his head. Stiles swallowed as his torso was bared.

 

“Um.” Scott had returned. He gave Stiles a ‘You have a weird sense of timing’ look.

 

Stiles directed Scott to put the box down on his bed and gave him a ‘We are never going to talk about this because there is nothing to talk about’ look. “Now both of you get out of here. I have two and a half hours and I need every minute of it.”

 

\---

 

The most effective way to charm a piece of clothing was to weave the sigils and intent into the fabric during its creation. The second most effective way was embroidery.

 

The cheapest, dirtiest, fastest way was apparently to use a sharpie. Hopefully Derek didn’t like this shirt too much. At least it was a shirt he seemed to have owned for a while, which would make the kind of charms Stiles was going to try more effective. Shoes were even better, because there was a psychological connection with stealth, and they were broken in, so they had a perfect mold of Derek’s perfect arches and _holy shit there is no time for this_.

 

Stiles made tags for his own shoes and Derek’s out of scraps of canvas, cutting holes in the edges so he could undo the laces on all of the shoes and redo them over the charms. He wrote out incantations, scrawled them in red ink before rolling them up as tight as possible and binding them shut with leather cords. He hung them from pieces of string and set them aside. Charms for safety, charms for stealth, charms for inconspicuousness, charms for silence. Of course, they were all to do with perception, so if Peter somehow realized they were there, all of the charms would be useless. 

 

Finally, at twenty to midnight, he stuck his head out into the hallway and invited Scott and Derek back. Throwing the latter his shirt and shoes, they changed in silence.

 

Scott was reading the note again.

 

“Do you know where we’re going?” Stiles asked.

 

“Yeah.” Scott stuffed the note in his pocket. “The place I was bitten.”

 

“And you can find it?”

 

“No problem.”

 

“Good. One more thing.” Stiles put a hand on Derek’s chest as the other made to move past him. As Derek tilted his head inquiringly, Stiles pulled him down by the front of his shirt and kissed him. One of them made a desperate sound and Derek surged against him.

 

After a timeless period, Stiles pulled away, mouth tingling. “In case we all die horribly or I chicken out later.” He sounded breathless, even to his own ears. Derek’s eyes were wide.

 

“Okay,” Scott interrupted loudly. He was standing there with a hand over his eyes. “Now that you have that out of your systems, can we please leave?”

 

\---

 

“How come I can still see you?” Scott hissed.

 

“Because you already know we're here. That, or they’re not working and we’re done for.”

 

“Hilarious.”

 

Stiles and Derek positioned themselves about ten feet away from Scott and slightly behind him. Scott turned in a slow circle, tense. He nervously played with the amulet in his pocket. “He’s late.”

 

“You’re talking to yourself.” Derek pointed out.

 

“So, you came.” Scott jumped as Peter approached.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And your friends?”

 

Scott frowned. “Lydia’s in the hospital. The bite didn’t take.”

 

Peter merely shrugged. “I didn’t mean her.”

 

Scott pressed his lips together. Stiles guessed he was trying not to give himself away by lying that he and Derek weren’t there. Derek had told Scott that he wasn’t good enough to get away with kind of thing with someone like Peter.

 

“She’s been seeing your face in mirrors, lately.”

 

“How nice for her.”

 

“I see you healed your scars. My real question is how you stopped that from happening sooner. You’ve been in the hospital how long?”

 

“Eight years.” Peter stroked a hand across his own cheek. “It’s an old trick to suppress wolf traits. It became popular in the late nineteenth century. All you have to do,” he slipped a hand into his pocket and Scott tensed, “is keep a silver coin under your tongue.” He drew out an uneven, discolored disk and flicked it into the air, a graceful arc, before catching it and stowing it again.

 

“Your scent wasn’t at any of the attack scenes. Your human scent. I thought Derek might have been covering for you, but we went back and couldn’t find it.”

 

“Wolfsbane,” Peter mused, “Such useful stuff. Turns out if you spread it around, it dampens wolf senses. Too much and Derek would have noticed, though, so I had to use it sparingly.”

 

Scott’s eyes were darting around distrustfully. “You’re just going to tell me all of your secrets? Just like that? I’m waiting for a ‘because you’ll never be able to tell anyone’ followed by an evil cackle.”

 

Peter put on a look of shock, raising a hand to his chest as if wounded. The gesture was so endearingly familiar that Stiles automatically glanced over at Derek. He was standing stock-still, eyes fixed unblinkingly on Peter.

 

“I’m not going to kill you, Scott. I want you to _trust_ me.”

 

“Pro-tip: attacking and threatening my friends is a really shitty way to go about that,” Scott spat.

 

“Maybe so, but consider this: no one you know has died.”

 

“ _Yet_.”

 

“I was trying to be delicate.”

 

“Well cut it out. I’d rather you be straight with me. It’s recently come to my attention that I can be sort of dense when it comes to subtlety.”

 

Peter sighed. “I’m an alpha. I can offer you power.” His words were clipped, precise. “You haven’t seen what the hunters can do, but trust me, you will. I think you know Chris Argent’s daughter, Allison? You are in a unique position of power, there.”

 

“Tell me,” Scott said, and his voice was shaking with anger. “What were you doing in this forest the night you bit me? Waiting? Because _I_ didn’t even know I would be coming until Stiles told me they had found a dead body out here.”

 

For once, Peter was silent. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Scott said. “You weren’t waiting. You were lying low until the police had cleared out. But then you saw me and- what? Recognized me from the hospital? Heard my breathing and knew I was asthmatic and would be easy to chase down?”

 

“It was my birthright.” Peter spoke softly. “My sister was the alpha, and when Kate,” his breath caught. “ _I_ should have been the next alpha after Talia, not Laura.”

 

There was a crunch and everyone whirled around. Derek was standing there, the scroll that had so recently hung around his neck was dangling from his clawed fist. His eyes shone blue in the darting shadows and his mouth was twisted up in an ugly rictus.

 

“Derek.” Peter sounded calm. “I wondered if you were here.”

 

“You’re as bad as the hunters,” Derek snarled. “Mom always said that ‘monster’ was a bad word, but I think she’d make an exception for you.”

 

Peter shifted, his eyes glowing like hot coals. “You can’t win against me,” he growled, and took a step forward, menacing, before something came hurtling through the air and struck him in the eye. He fell back, howling.

 

“Um,” Scott looked suddenly scared. He had thrown the silver pendant Stiles had given him, and now quickly worked to shift as Peter turned on him. “Don’t-”

 

Peter was on him in an instant, lifting him by the front of his shirt and slamming his head back into a tree before Derek could move to stop him. Scott’s head lolled and Peter threw him. He hit another tree with a sickening snap and crumpled, unconscious.

 

Peter turned on Derek. Stiles felt like he had blinked and missed something. Gone were the two pointy-eared men. Instead, two massive wolves circled each other. Stiles quickly backed up, kneeling to check on Scott. He was still breathing, but blood trickled from the back of his head and his arm looked wrong. Stiles swallowed, fear pounding in his veins, and looked back at the wolves, who were locked at the jaw, ripping at each other with their claws.

 

They sprang apart and went back to circling, steam rising from a gash on Derek’s shoulder. He growled and Peter yawned, a glint in his eyes. He was playing with him, Stiles realized.

 

With a shudder, Stiles began edging backwards, dragging Scott with him.

 

The movement caught the attention of the red gaze. Derek surged at Peter, snapping at the opening, and Peter was forced to fight back, each one trying to roll the other onto his back.

 

Then Peter did something strange. He _yielded_ , and Derek yipped as Peter continued rolling, pinning Derek before using the momentum to spring off of him. Stiles gabbled, terrified, and managed to catch Peter with a binding spell. He froze, mid-leap. Turns out it had been worth being late to class the morning after he had stayed up late, trying to get this right.

 

“Derek!” Stiles yelled. He snapped the cord holding the scroll around his neck, needing every last ounce of his power to hold the massive wolf still. The hairs on the wolf’s body looked thick and course from close-up. His hackles were raised, and his hateful red eyes followed Stiles as he struggled to his knees, trembling and sweating. “Derek, do it now! I can’t hold him!”

 

Derek was bleeding from at least half a dozen places as he shook himself off. He was sliding back to his half-human form, eyes wild, and Stiles realized that his mind was still mostly wolf.

 

He panted as Peter began to inch forward ever so slowly. He could feel their wills clashing, could feel Peter fighting to free himself.

 

“Derek! You have to do it! You have to kill him!”

 

But Derek wasn’t moving. He was standing, staring at Peter, stricken.

 

“He killed your sister! He betrayed you!”

 

Derek gave Stiles a wild look. He wasn’t going to do it. He couldn’t kill him.

 

Stiles gritted his teeth. It was a monumental risk, but in a few seconds he was going to be forced to let go, anyway. There wasn’t much fight left in him, and he shivered in the cold breeze, sweat chilling his skin. He just had to hope Derek chose right. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

 

He let go.

 

Peter slammed into him, and Stiles felt his hot, stinking breath at his throat before there was an inarticulate yell. Peter jerked and went limp. Derek had broken his neck.

 

Derek rolled the body off of Stiles and helped him to his feet. Peter looked smaller in death, a harmless ragdoll of a dog, which seemed to be dissolving into the form of a man once more.

 

“You’re bleeding,” Derek said, and Stiles looked down at the gashes in his thighs and chest where Peter’s claws had struck him, trembling as adrenaline and fatigue warred in him.

 

“Huh,” he said, and blacked out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit just got real. D:


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles regained consciousness by inches. Groaning, he lifted his head. Scott raised a hand and Stiles nodded to him. Once the room stopped spinning, he examined his surroundings.

 

“Are we at the vet’s?” He croaked.

 

Scott shifted the bag of ice he was holding on the back of his head. “Did you really want the hospital to call your dad?”

 

Stiles’ stomach gave a sick swoop. “Oh god,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m going to have to answer questions about Lydia, aren’t I?”

 

“I don’t know. Probably.”

 

“Where’s Derek?”

 

“Still out burying the body.” Stiles whirled around, immediately regretting it as his stomach gave another lurch.

 

Scott hopped off the counter and moved to put a steadying hand on Stiles’ shoulder and help him to sit up. “Stiles, it’s okay. You’ve met Deaton before.”

 

“Yeah, I remember. Hi.”

 

Deaton nodded to him and held out a glass of something that looked like slightly sketchy tap water. “What’s this?”

 

“Water.”

 

“Oh.” Stiles gulped at it, draining the glass within seconds. The next minute he was slumped over the stainless steel sink, throwing up.

 

“Shouldn’t have drunk it that fast. You’re dehydrated and your magical reservoirs are zapped.” Stiles stared at Deaton over the edge of the sink, wiping his mouth with one trembling hand.

 

“What are you talking about?” He managed. It wasn’t very convincing.

 

“It’s okay, bro. He knows.”

 

“Knows… what?”

 

Deaton brought Stiles another glass of water, which he sipped this time, rubbing his throat, which felt raw. “I’m a witch, like you. Well, a druid. You have quite a talent for amulets.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“I can offer you guidance if you want. Nothing like what your mother could do, but then again, she was special.”

 

Stiles held up a hand to stop him. He drained the rest of the water, and his stomach surged as he wondered if he was going to throw up again. “Can we not talk about my mom right now? I think I’ve been through enough weird shit for one day.”

 

“I’m sorry. Of course.”

 

Stiles looked at Scott. “How’s your arm and your,” he indicated the back of his head.

 

“Arm _was_ broken, along with my collarbone and a few cracked ribs. Moderate concussion. Mostly all good now, but a headache like you wouldn’t believe. Remind me not to pick a fight with an alpha again. Which I guess now would be Derek.”

 

“Right,” Stiles said slowly. “He killed Peter.” He rubbed his chest, only for his fingers to bump up against a bright, sticky pain. He pulled up his shirt to a reveal a swath of bandages. Now he thought about it, there was a similar kind of pain going on in his thighs. “These are some damn good painkillers, doc.”

 

“Not my doing,” Deaton said, slapping a bottle of advil into Scott’s hand. “That was Derek. He wouldn’t let me look at his injuries. Just dropped you two, made sure you were going to be okay, and left to bury his uncle.”

 

“He took my pain?” Stiles wanted to sit on the table again, but wasn’t sure he could manage jumping at the moment. Shit, were there stitches under those bandages? Practice was going to be awful. On the plus side, though, there would be significantly less threat of imminent death.

 

“Yes. On top of whatever he was already feeling.”

 

“Knowing him, it’s more guilt than pain,” Stiles muttered, poking at his bandages. Scott reached out and tiredly batted his hand away.

 

“He chose you, though,” Scott said. Stiles looked at him. “When it came down to it, he chose you over Peter.”

 

Stiles held out a hand and Scott griped it tightly. “He chose us, man.”

 

\---

 

In the end, it was Scott who talked Isaac into meeting Derek.

 

Isaac looked about ready to bolt as Scott led him around the corner from the locker room door. Damn it, Scott had told Derek not to wear the leather jacket, the leather jacket plus lounging against the brick wall of a high school equaled sketchy drug dealer look.

 

Ah, fuck it.

 

“Isaac, this is Derek.” Derek didn’t offer Isaac a hand, for which Scott was secretly glad.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hey.” Derek stood, moving back the tiniest bit as he did so. Isaac relaxed infinitesimally.

 

Isaac cleared his throat. “So I hear there’s something I need to see?”

 

“Um, yeah.” Scott wondered how to go about this. “Isaac, Derek here is a werewolf. So am I.”

 

Isaac laughed. “Pull the other one.”

 

“No, really.”

 

“I guess _he_ looks like a werewolf, what with the eyebrows and brooding good looks, but you? No way. Not that you’re not good looking, you’ve just got more of a puppy-dog, boy-next-door thing going on.” Derek snorted with laughter and Scott glared at him.

 

“Think about it. How have I been so good at lacrosse lately?”

 

“Uh, you’ve been practicing? I don’t know.”

 

Derek cleared his throat. “I think he might take some convincing.”

 

“What are you gonna do, turn into a- _holy_ shit!”

 

Derek smirked, exposing his fangs as his eyes glowed red.

 

Isaac looked at Scott, wide-eyed. “Do you do that too? Because I hate to say it, but that looks like shitty CGI.” He talked over Derek’s indignant ‘Hey!’ “Can you guys turn into actual wolves at all? Because otherwise I have to say I’m a little underwhelmed.”

 

Scott nodded at Derek, who stretched and settled his shoulders, morphing into the shaggy black wolf and padding around in a circle. He sat down and laid his tail across his front paws, more like a cat than a dog, and gave a pointed yawn, showing off long, sharp teeth.

 

“Oh my god,” Isaac muttered, dazed. He took a step forward and- Scott could hardly believe it- patted Derek’s head. “Oh my god, you are the actual lovechild of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.” Derek thrust his muzzle into Isaac’s palm and Isaac laughed. “I’ve always wanted a dog,” he remarked to Scott.

 

“Honestly, I’m shocked he’s letting you pet him. He must really want you for his pack.”

 

Isaac turned around so fast that Derek had to hastily pull his head back to keep from getting hit by Isaac’s backpack. “What does that mean?” he asked sharply.

 

Derek shook himself, standing and brushing himself off. “It means you can have what we have, if you want it. The bite. Power. Strength.” Isaac was staring at him. “A family.”

 

Isaac pulled in a ragged breath, and Scott could see he was close to tears. “There’s no way this could be that easy. Are there side effects? Who even knows about this?”

 

“Stiles does. Very few others. Now you.”

 

“Stiles?” Isaac looked baffled. “Okay, now he is _definitely_ not one I would have pegged for team Jacob.”

 

“He’s not. But he’s involved. As for side effects, changes can be sort of rough to get the hang of. And obviously you have to keep this stuff a secret.”

 

Isaac gave a wild laugh. “Because I’m not used to keeping secrets or anything. Can I think about this?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Scott raised a hand and tentatively squeezed Isaac’s arm. “If you have questions or anything, ask me. And even if you say no, it’s not like we won’t still be there for you, okay?”

 

Isaac looked at Derek, who nodded encouragingly.

 

“Okay.”

 

\---  


“Hey Lydia, can I ask you for advice?”

 

Lydia came out of the changing room wearing a slinky purple dress. “What do you think of this one?”

 

“You look incredible.”

 

“You always say that,” Lydia pouted.

 

“I always think you look incredible.”

 

Lydia threw up her hands and went back into the changing room to look at herself in the mirror again. She adjusted the neckline to cover the bandages over her heart. “I think I’m going to buy it.”

 

“Good choice.” Erica kicked her feet against the legs of the molded plastic chair. “Can I ask your advice?”

 

“No.” She could almost hear the eyeroll.

 

“Okay so, there’s this… new medication I’ve heard about. For epilepsy.” _Nice cover, genius. What’s it called, Lycanth?_

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah. I’m thinking of asking if I can try it.”

 

“Have tests shown it to be effective?”

 

“Ye-es. For others.”

 

“Do you have reason to think it won’t be for you?”

 

“No, not really.”

 

“Can you afford it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Lydia came out and leaned against the doorframe of the stall, arms crossed. “Why do I get the impression you’re hesitant to try it, then?”

 

Erica shrugged. How to explain it? “One of the side effects is that once your body adjusts to it, you have to keep taking it for the rest of your life.”

 

Lydia frowned. “Weird.”

 

Erica fidgeted. “Yeah.”

 

“But you think it’ll be good for you?”

 

“Yeah, pretty sure.”

 

“So what’s your reservation? You don’t want to be dependent on it?”

 

“Something like that.” Erica played with the hair tie around her wrist. She normally wore her hair down, because putting it up too much tended to snap the fragile strands or yank them out. Honestly, what was she holding out for? “I guess I’m just scared that if it _works_ , I won’t know who I am without my disability. You know? That sounds dumb, doesn’t it?”

 

Lydia hummed. “Of course it doesn’t sound dumb. Depending on how long this drug has been in development, the long-term effects may not be known. On the other hand, if it’s your personality you’re worried about, let me just say that is was _not_ epilepsy that stood up to my asshole ex in front of the entire grade. I think you’ve got personality to excess. Look, how long do you have to decide?”

 

“There’s no deadline, really.”

 

“Then set yourself one. I’m always here as a sounding board, but I think you should set a date by which you need to make your choice.”

 

Erica slowly nodded. As she did so, she slipped the hair tie off of her wrist and put it in her pocket. “Okay.”

 

\---

 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Stiles swore and clutched at his heart.

 

“Warn a guy, will you? You should wear a bell.”

 

Derek took Stiles by the elbow and turned him around. They were standing in his bedroom. He would ask how Derek had gotten in, but the truth was, Stiles had been keeping his window open of late in some act vague of optimism.

 

“I offered Isaac and Erica the bite. I told Scott I’ll still train him if he wants. Scott tells me you might start training under Deaton.” Derek dropped his eyes. “You kissed me,” he said softly.

 

Stiles swallowed, but didn’t answer.

 

“You almost died fighting Peter.”

 

Stiles shrugged. “But I didn’t.”

 

“But you could have. If I hadn’t been fast enough-”

 

“But you _were_. Have you been torturing yourself this whole time?”

 

“I’m too old for you,” Derek blurted. “You’re still in high school-”

 

“How old are you?” Stiles interrupted.

 

“Twenty-two…”

 

Stiles exclaimed. “That’s only a four year difference! My mom was seven years older than my dad, and you think four years is going to bother me?”

 

Derek hunched his shoulders. Stiles sighed. “I’m a witch, man. My mom was a witch. My mom was your mom’s emissary. Scott is my best friend. If you think by not seeing each other around you can keep me from getting involved in this stuff, you are sadly mistaken.”

 

Derek lowered his head and Stiles rested his own forehead against his.

 

“You were avoiding me.”

 

“Maybe I didn’t want you staring at my chest and wondering if my cuts had healed yet.”

 

“Is that it?”

 

Stiles hesitated. “You didn’t come to see me either,” he deflected.

 

“I’m here now. Why have you been avoiding me?”

 

Stiles backed up a step, turned away. He knew that Derek would be able to hear how his heart was pounding, but there was no way he could know how much it was _hurting_. “I really like you. When I kissed you, I thought I was finally being brave. I can never be serious about crushes because I’m always afraid people won’t take me seriously and will laugh. So I’m always the one who laughs first.” He forced out a mirthless sound.

 

Derek took hold of his hand. “I’m not laughing.”

 

Stiles looked at their joined hands. “I really like you, Derek Hale.”

 

Derek pulled Stiles toward him, and cupped his face. Stiles met the kiss readily, but finally pushed Derek away.

 

“You have to say it back.”

 

Derek frowned. “What?”

 

“Say it back.” Stiles was insistent. “But only if you mean it. If you don’t- don’t feel the same way-” he was panicking now, trying to pull his hand out of Derek’s and looking miserable. “That’s okay, Scott says I’ll get over you, but I don’t know at this point, I really don’t.”

 

All of a sudden, Derek seemed to figure it out, and backed Stiles into the door. “I really like you too, Stiles,” He spoke to words quietly, leaning down to press them behind Stiles’ ear, like a secret. “I like when you’re bossy. I like that you’re loyal and independent. I like that you take no shit and won’t duck out when things are getting dicey, even if it does make me want to tie you down and keep you safe forever.”

 

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed, and Derek suddenly became aware of how that sounded as he pressed Stiles up against the door of his room, a knee forcing his legs to fall open, Derek hands pining Stiles’ arms. Stiles’ pupils were gaping, and he surged forward, kissing Derek hungrily.

 

“That was pretty much the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me, like, ever,” Stiles groaned, shrugging off Derek’s hands to wrap his arms around Derek’s waist.

 

“So that’s a yes?”

 

“To what? Dating? Making out some more? Possible… I don’t know? Other things in the future?”

 

“All of that.”

 

“All of that,” Stiles echoed, and kissed him again with blistering force. “Yes.”

 

\---

 

Next Friday, Isaac caught up Scott after school as he futzed around at his locker.

 

It had not escaped Scott and Stiles’ notice that Isaac had been absent from the school the previous day. And here Isaac was, looking pale and shaken, with dark circles under his eyes and abrasions on his knuckles and fingertips. A couple of his fingernails looked broken, and he was back to flinching at the sound of slamming lockers.

 

Scott closed his own locker very carefully. “What’s up, Isaac? Are you okay? Did you get my texts?”

 

Isaac pressed his lips together and didn’t answer. He was trembling ever so faintly, and when he reached out and grasped Scott’s arm like it was a lifeline, Scott covered his ruined hand with one of his own.

 

“Tell Derek,” he croaked, and holy shit, he sounded awful, “that I’m ready. I want the bite.”

 

“Okay, I can tell him. When do you want to do it? Tomorrow?”

 

“Now. As soon as possible.” Isaac let his head dip forward, hair falling in front of his eyes. Scott was pretty sure he was crying. “Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Don't worry, Boyd is coming :P)
> 
> Also welcome to the never-ending roller coaster of terror that is this fic. I'm actually working on writing the final chapter right now. ;)
> 
> In the immortal words of Bill and Ted, 'Be excellent to each other, and rock on!'.


	10. Chapter 10

When Derek had gotten the call from Chris Argent, he was only surprised it hadn’t come sooner.

 

This time, he graciously allowed the meeting to take place in the other’s office, because if Chris had called him, that put the ball in Derek’s court, and he wasn’t looking to put the Argents on edge. The fact that they hadn’t packed up and hit the road yet made him angry, not stupid.

 

He was shown into Argent’s office by the man’s assistant, who left, shutting the door.

 

Argent stood to receive Derek and even went to far as the briefly grasp his hand. Derek could tell that it pained Argent to bend such a traditionally respectful gesture to the reception of a werewolf, so Derek gave him points for even trying.

 

Points equaled get-out-of-antagonism-free passes. Which meant he did not comment that he was surprised Argent had let his assistant lead Derek through his house, where his family was. And that he further did not mention that Argent’s assistant must have a lot of faith in the two of them if he knowingly shut them in a small room together.

 

“Argent.”

 

“Hale.”

 

“You wanted to see me?”

 

Argent’s jaw tightened, and that wasn’t fair, Derek hadn’t meant to come off like a flippant child being sent to the principal for the hundredth time, but _damned_ if Argent didn’t bring it out of him. So much for those free passes.

 

“Indeed I did. Your three weeks are up.”

 

“And the rogue wolf is no more, just as we agreed.”

 

“Yes. Your uncle Peter, I believe?”

 

Derek felt irritation lick his belly. “You would be correct.”

 

“And yet I see _here_ ,” Argent shuffled some private and _highly illegal where did he even get those_ hospital records around on his desk, “that a miss Lydia Martin was attacked very recently. Wolf bite in her own home. Investigation suspended due to lack of evidence.” He peered at Derek. “Do you know anything about this?”

 

Derek glared. “Peter attacked her just before we got to him. I don’t think she’s going to turn, though, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

“That’s not what worries me.” _No, of course not._ “What worries me is that you let her be attacked in the first place.”

 

“With all due respect, _sir_ , -”

 

“My _point_ is that you’re on thin ice, Hale. I know you were never brought up to be an alpha, but I would have thought your mother’s example would have made more of an impression on you. She actually advocated peace between your people and mine; did you know that?”

 

“Of course she did. Most of us just want to coexist with humans.”

 

“I’m not talking about humans, Mr. Hale. I mean hunters.”

 

Derek held his tongue. He hadn’t known that. Argent took advantage of his silence. “I know you’re just starting to get your feet again, maybe thinking of starting a new pack. I don’t want to cause trouble, but I think it would be best for everyone if my family hangs around to keep any new wolves in line.”

 

Derek could read between the lines. _Because we can’t stop you biting them if they ask, and we don’t think you could handle them on your own,_ he meant.

 

“You said you would leave once the rogue wolf was dead.”

 

“We’ll leave when Beacon Hills is safe.”

 

Derek narrowed his eyes. “I’m not a threat.”

 

“I don’t think you are. But this isn’t up to me.”

 

“Oh?” Derek growled.

 

“Business is business is family, Derek. That’s how it is in our world.”

 

“I know.” He thought of Kate. _That’s what I’m afraid of._

 

\---

 

“So things are settling down?” Scott hummed as Allison scratched gently at his scalp. He purposefully had never mentioned to Stiles the mind-melting effect the simple act had on him, for fear of more dog jokes.

 

Not that Stiles needed an excuse to make dog jokes. “I think so.”

 

“Will you tell me what was going on, now?”

 

Scott weighed his options. It was reasonable question. Derek had reported that the hunters would be sticking around for a while, and had reiterated that if the wolves didn’t cause trouble, neither would they. So Allison was okay, right? How much could he tell her? Better question, how much did she know?

 

“So you know about all of the weird… stuff? That’s been going on around here recently?” He hedged.

 

“Like Lydia getting attacked, stuff?” Not much, then.

 

“Yeah, among other things.”

 

“So?”

 

Scott bit his lip. It didn’t help that he had Allison’s fingers in his hair and Derek’s voice in his ear, telling him not to fucking do this don’t you dare Scott.

 

“So that’s been sort of messing with me, on top of finding out some stuff about one of my friends that sort of changed how I think about a lot of stuff.”

 

Allison nodded. “Stiles is certainly bisexual.”

 

“One out of two, I’ve known he was bi for years, but good guess.”

 

Allison stilled her fingers and Scott pouted, twisting to shamelessly abuse his ‘puppy-dog eyes’.

 

“Is Stiles okay?”

 

“What? Yes, Stiles is fine.”

 

“And you’d tell me if he wasn’t?”

 

“Yeah, of course.”

 

“And you’re not keeping secrets from me?”

 

Scott sat up, sitting cross-legged across from Allison. “A few. But some of them aren’t mine to tell.”

 

“That’s fair.” Allison looked around Scott’s room. Scott surreptitiously nudged a pair of not-quite-clean socks under the trailing edge of his comforter. “If I tell you a secret of mine, will you tell me a secret of yours? One you’re allowed to tell me?”

 

“Um, yes. Alright.”

 

“Okay.” Allison picked fluff out of the carpet. “I used to live pretty close to here. My family has moved around a lot for most of my life, but when dad told me we were moving back here, I thought that we were _finally_ going to stay for good. End up where we started.” Allison met Scott’s eyes, and he was struck, dizzingly, gloriously, but how beautiful she was, how natural and _real_. “The truth is, I don’t even know why we move so much. I mean, dad is a businessman and he has to go to demonstrations and things, but no matter where we end up, he still has to travel for conferences all the time. I miss him. And now I’m afraid that Beacon Hills is going to end up as temporary as all of the other places.”

 

Scott took Allison’s hand and she smiled, a quick, sad thing.

 

“What about you? What are your secrets?”

 

And oh god this was a terrible mistake, Scott could not do this, could not lie to her. “My parents are divorced,” he blurted. “My dad’s a real asshole. Works for the FBI, if you can believe it. For a long time I kept hoping that if did really well in school, helped mom out, did my chores, he’d come back and fix everything. Tell me that he still loved me and still loved mom and that I was a good kid. By the time I turned twelve, I think I knew he didn’t give a shit about us. I’m not even sure if that’s true, I just knew it the way you sometimes _know_ things you convince yourself of. So I started slacking off and resenting dad for how tired mom looks all the time when she picks up extra shifts to cover what the alimony doesn’t pay. I work now, which sort of helps, but I also kind of wonder what he’d think of the kind of person I am now, of the kind of friends I have and the kind of stuff I’ve seen.”

 

“What kind of stuff have you seen?” Allison asked, and Scott felt terrible, but he couldn’t lie to her, couldn’t-

 

“People don’t notice stuff,” he said softly. “Me included. It takes other people pointing things out for me to notice sometimes. One of my friends- not Stiles, before you ask- I’m pretty sure his dad beats him or something. And I never would have known, because he’s so good at hiding it. Even the people who I know I can’t be sure I really know. Am I a good person? Am I a good friend?” He looked at Allison beseechingly.

 

“I can’t answer those things for you.”

 

“No, of course not,” Scott said quickly, pulling his hands away from hers and wishing he still had Stiles’ amulet to hang onto. “No one can. That was a lot to put on you- sorry.”

 

“No, it’s okay. I’m glad you want to talk. And for the record, _I_ think you’re a good person. Better than most.”

 

Scott forced a laugh. “Thanks.”

 

“No, really,” Allison said, and her voice was fierce. “My dad says it’s someone’s actions that determine what kind of person they are.”

 

“Well your dad would know, wouldn’t he?” The words slipped out before he could stop them. _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck say something nice at my funeral, Stiles, because Derek is going to shoot me._

“What do you mean?”

 

Scott rubbed his head. Was it his imagination, or was it hurting? A kind of pressure near the back where it had so recently been introduced to a couple of trees. “Not my secrets.” _Or not_ just _mine_.

 

\---

 

Lydia concentrated, staring down her reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror. _I’m not afraid of you, reflection. For one thing, I look damn good. For another, even if that guy comes back, I’ll be ready for him. I will. I’m not scared._ She saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye and jumped, breaking off her staring contest with the mirror.

 

“Lydia!”

 

“Holy shit.” Erica was wearing heels. And what looked like some of the clothes Lydia always talked her into buying but that she had never worn in public. It wasn’t just that, though. She was grinning from ear to ear in a way Lydia had hardly ever seen her do before, and she was carrying herself differently, more confidently.

 

“I know, right? I started that new medication and I feel amazing.” She screwed up her face. “Well, to tell the truth, I mostly feel the same. Just like. More energetic, I guess.”

 

“You look like you’re flirting pretty hard with a couple of dress code violations right now,” Lydia said faintly. Lydia usually swung mainly toward guys but wow. Wow. _Shit happens, right?_ “You look incredible,” she added feebly. “I sort of miss the sweaters with kittens, though.”

 

Erica flashed her a brilliant smile. “Tomorrow I’ll wear it just for you. But for now, can you help me do my hair and makeup? I’ve never really used eye shadow before.”

 

“Sure. What look are you going for?” Lydia asked as she rummaged in her bag for a compact.

 

“Something that says ‘I’m gonna fuck your dad and make your bedtime 8 o’clock.’”

 

“Oddly specific,” Lydia said, starting to smile, “But ambitious. I like it.”

 

Erica sighed happily. “I just have a good feeling right now.”

 

\---

 

Derek parked by his house and got out of the car, pausing to frown at the old wreck. _Maybe it’s time to move out._

 

It was a moment before he noticed the kid sitting on his front steps. He was considering Derek quietly, making no move to leave.

 

“Who are you?” Derek asked, shutting his car door and approaching.

 

“Boyd.” The kid offered no more information.

 

“And what are you doing here, Boyd?”

 

“Followed you home.” Boyd stood, carefully brushing himself down. “From what I can see, you’ve been collecting strays. I was wondering if you had room for one more.”

 

Derek shifted uncomfortably. Who was this guy? “Look, I’m not sure what you think is going on-”

 

“You’re a werewolf. Scott McCall is a werewolf, too. Erica Reyes is, and a new one at that. Isaac Lahey has been lying low, but I suspect him, too.” Boyd’s gaze was direct and steady.

 

“Listen, that’s ridiculous. Do your parents know you’re here?”

 

“No one knows I’m here. But it’s not ridiculous. People ignore me. They say things in front of me because they don’t think I count. I know what goes on in this town, even if no one talks to me.”

 

Derek was seriously unnerved now. “What do you want?”

 

Boyd let his eyes slide away, but with an effort, fixed his eyes on Derek’s once more. “I want what you offered them. I’m sick of being invisible.”

 

Derek waited. “That’s it? That’s your pitch?”

 

“Well, yeah. I was kind of hoping you were still looking for recruits and would jump at the chance.” He fidgeted. “I guess I don’t really have a plan B.”

 

Derek snorted. “Well you get points for directness. Not to mention tracking and information-gathering.”

 

Boyd shrugged. “When I was little, all of the kids said the Hales had to be werewolves, living out here in the woods.” Boyd gestured around at the whispering leaves as the wind started picking up. “You guys would never play with us, always keeping to yourselves.”

 

Derek stared. “We did sometimes,” he mumbled. Who _was_ this kid?

 

“But we were always the ones to invite you guys to play, and you could always run faster than us when we played tag. You knew the woods better, too, and would leave the rest of us behind. Whenever we broke up into teams, you guys never wanted to mix. It was always Hales versus Us.”

 

Derek was nodding in spite of himself. “We’re supposed to coexist with humans,” he said softly. “But my family was full of born-wolves, and we were raised separately. We knew there were things we could do that other kids couldn’t, and some of my older cousins thought that made us better. My mom always told me that wasn’t true, though.” Derek regarded Boyd. “I don’t remember you from my playground days.”

 

“No,” he said morosely. “That’s kind of the point.”

 

\---

 

“Derek!” Scott tumbled through the door, making an impatient noise as Stiles and Derek took their sweet time untangling themselves. Stiles shot Scott a disgruntled look. Derek-makeout time was sacred and Scott knew it.

 

But Derek had caught the look of urgency on Scott’s face. “What is it?”

 

“It’s Isaac’s dad.”

 

Stiles’ fists clenched involuntarily. “What did he do?”

 

“Not him. Isaac. His dad is dead.”

 

“ _What?”_

Scott edged back. “At least I think so. His dad is missing and Isaac’s not talking about it. You need to talk to him right now or I think he’s going to try to run away.”

 

Derek, already on his feet, made to push past Scott, but Scott barred the door with one arm. “And when you’re done with Isaac, you might want to call the hunters.”

 

“What? Why?” Stiles felt dizzy. He folded his feet under him on the couch, hugging himself.

 

“Because they’ve already heard about Isaac’s dad. Allison’s aunt is back in town.”

 

Scott removed his arm from the doorframe. Stiles could see Derek’s expression, but his shoulders were hunched, and Scott looked more than a little freaked out.

 

Derek wasn’t moving. Stiles made to stand up. “Derek?”

 

Derek didn’t respond. “Isaac first,” he said. “Then Argent.” Scott gave him a quick nod. “Can you gather the others? Pack meeting as soon as I get back.”

 

“Yeah, got it.”

 

Derek turned to look at Stiles, who still had his arms wrapped around himself and was shaking and pale. Derek crossed to him, folding him in a hug.

 

“I can handle this, Stiles. Everything’s going to be okay.”

 

“But will you?”

 

Derek tilted Stiles’ head back to kiss him. “Of course. I have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, back at the plot....


	11. Chapter 11

“I can’t believe you! After what you did to _me,_ to my _family,_ you think you have the right to be here? Beacon Hills is _mine_ and you are not welcome here!”

 

Allison cracked open her door, wondering what all the yelling was about. She peered over the banister to see an unexpected tableau. A very attractive, very angry man was standing there, fists clenched, looking like he was ready for a fight. The object of his ire seemed to be Allison’s aunt Kate, who was smiling indulgently, as if the man’s outburst was merely amusing to her. Presiding over the scene was Allison’s father, who was keeping silent, arms folded.

 

“And here I thought you had missed me, Derek,” Kate purred.

 

The man _growled_ at her. “Do _not_ play cute with me. I want you gone. Now.”

 

“Don’t you think we can settle this like adults? Put the past behind us? I know you thought we had something special-”

 

“But you proved me wrong in the showiest and most devastating way you could think of?” The man named Derek took a threatening step forward and Allison’s dad moved to cut him off.

 

“She’s here because of the man your pup killed.”

 

Allison must have made a sound, some gasp or noise of confusion, because Derek whipped around to stare up at her. For a moment, she could have sworn that his eyes glowed red like the grate to a furnace, but then she blinked and his eyes were merely hazel. She recognized him, then, as the man she had seen talking to her father in the garage a while back.

 

“Hi,” Derek said. Allison was startled at his abrupt change in demeanor. “You’re Allison, right? Scott’s friend?”

 

Allison nodded mutely, feeling her father’s gaze boring holes in her. She was going to have to answer to him for eavesdropping, and she was so sick of it, so sick of being reprimanded for every tiny misstep. She knew her father loved her, but he could go out of his way every once in a while to pretend he loved her more than his work.

 

Allison stomped back to her room, pointedly closing the door in what was just not a slam- a technique she had perfected years before.

 

She heard a low murmur of voices, which rapidly faded. The adults must have decided to move their conversation elsewhere.

 

\---

 

“Let us deal with Isaac.”

 

“Absolutely not,” Derek snapped. “He’s in my pack and he’s my responsibility.”

 

“Be reasonable,” Chris said, exasperated. “This is out of your hands. Even if you claim responsibility, you’re not getting this kid out of punishment. You’re just going to go down with him. Give him to us. Hunters will be fair.”

 

Derek gritted his teeth. “Not a chance.” He ignored Kate. Ignored her purposefully and with great difficulty, because seeing her face, hearing her _voice_ was making his insides twist and his heart clench. He could remember everything; the words she had said to him, not just as they had lain together, but from every time they had been together. The gentle flattery, the flirting, and coy suggestions. And she had been _older_ , and for some reason that had excited him, that she was paying attention to him. Now he felt sick and used and confused. She had been what was good in his life for a while, or he had thought so at the time, and now, no matter how hard he tried to see her as the monster she was, those thoughts were bound up with the ways she had made him feel. Like he mattered. And god it hurt, but he had to be here right now, had to listen and protect Isaac from these people.

 

“Would you say yes if I wasn’t here?” Derek dragged his eyes around to Kate. She looked serious, but even when she looked serious there was an antic spark in her eyes. And her words were so tempting. Would he say yes if she weren’t here?

 

“No,” he said reluctantly. “I would debate about it with your brother for a while, and then we’d come to an agreement along the lines of ‘You can take care of Isaac, but we’re staying here to take care of you’. Then nothing would get resolved because you wouldn’t even know what you wanted Isaac to do to prove he’s not dangerous.”

 

“If he’s a killer, isn’t he dangerous?” The question was so sweet Derek resisted the urge to gag.

 

“Glass houses, Katy-did.” The endearment had slipped out of Derek without his permission and he remained stony in the face of Kate’s smile.

 

“You’ve really grown up, haven’t you, Der-bear?”

 

“You’ll never know, will you? You lost the right to know personal details a long time ago.”

 

“So dramatic. Some things never change.”

 

“I guess not.” _Hypocrite._

 

Chris cleared his throat, diffusing the situation. “Now about the matter at hand-?”

 

Derek folded his arms. “Isaac’s father was abusing him. You hunters know everything that goes on around here; why didn’t you do something about that? I thought you were supposed to protect people.”

 

Chris looked uneasy. “Not our jurisdiction.”

 

“Then can you really blame him for lashing out?” Derek stood. “Punish me if you want, but the fact is, he’s a _minor_ and a domestic abuse victim. You’re not laying a finger on him.” Derek made for the door. “I’ll be back here tonight to have a real conversation without _her_ ,” He gave Kate a pointed look. “For now, I need to be with my pack.”

 

\---

 

They were all waiting for Derek back at his house, and in the distracted way that thoughts will present themselves when they’re least convenient, Derek was reminded again of the ghosts that sat with his pups in this place. Maybe it really was time to move out.

 

“What the hell is going on?” Erica demanded as soon as Derek entered. She was cranky and smelled like perfume- Scott must have found her with her lady-friend and told her to hustle on over here. Derek could tell she resented being made to wait around for him, but it couldn’t be helped.

 

Derek looked to Boyd, who did nothing more than raise an eyebrow, knowing no words were needed to supplement Erica’s. Derek’s eyes skittered past Scott and _where the fuck is Stiles?_ landed on Isaac, who was sitting curled in a ball, head down on his knees and arms covering his face. Since the bite, the various bruises and abrasions on his hands- and presumably elsewhere on his body- had healed, but when Derek had been to see him earlier, he had been a wreck. Derek had brought him home, stationed him in that chair, and told him Scott and the others would be there soon.

 

It seemed that Isaac had not moved since then. “Isaac, you’re not in trouble.”

 

Isaac gave a muffled sob. “Yeah, right.”

 

Erica was looking back and forth, and Derek wished that Scott had thought to fill her in. “What’s going on? What did Isaac do?”

 

Derek ignored her. “Isaac, please look at me. Don’t worry. I’m not letting the hunters get to you, okay? I just met with them and I’m meeting with them again later. It’s going to work out. You can live with me until you’re eighteen, and after that, too, if you want. I’ll get the paperwork squared away. I was thinking of moving out of this old place, anyway.”

 

“Derek, what the _fuck-_ ” Erica started to say, but Isaac cut her off.

 

Raising his head to look at her, he said, “I killed my dad.”

 

Erica gaped at him. “What? Why?”

 

“Was it an accident?” Boyd asked.

 

Breath hitching, Isaac shook his head.

 

“ _Why?_ ” Erica repeated.

 

Isaac’s lips tightened. “Because I finally had the nerve to.”

 

“Okay, that is _not_ an answer,” Erica said, and Isaac flinched.

 

“Erica,” Derek growled, a hint of warning in his voice.

 

Isaac covered his face with his hands again. If everyone in the room hadn’t had superb hearing they might have missed his next words. “There’s a cement freezer in my basement. The last time dad locked me inside was kind of the last straw. Derek and Scott had offered, so I figured, what did I have to lose?”

 

Everyone was still.

 

“‘The last time’?” Scott echoed.

 

Isaac gave a jerky nod. He dropped his hands and looked at Derek. “You don’t have to protect me. I knew there would be trouble. I’ll cooperate with the hunters if you say I should, or I’ll leave, get out of your hair.”

 

“Absolutely not,” Derek said instantly. “You’re my pack. Beacon Hills is _ours_. And that goes for all of you.” He met each of their eyes in turn. “We stick together, okay? And no matter what, I’m on your side. The hunters don’t want to sit on us forever, and they _know_ I’m not going to let them get to you. Maybe we’ll just have to wait this out, or maybe there’ll be some kind of consequences. But that’s all on me. I’m the alpha, and you’re all my responsibility.”

 

“Wow,” Erica said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you string that many words together at once.” Boyd hummed in agreement.

 

“So what now?” Scott asked.

 

“Now you all go home. Keep a low profile if you can.”

 

“What about Isaac?” Boyd asked. Isaac had curled up into a ball again, arms around his knees.

 

“He cans stay with me tonight,” Scott offered instantly.

 

Derek shot him a grateful look. “Meanwhile there’s something I need to do before I meet with the hunters again. I’ll keep you all updated.”

 

\---

 

Stiles blinked. He had zoned out who knows how long ago, staring fixedly at one spot on the page. He stretched, and wondered if that counted as meditation. His phone buzzed on the desk beside him, and he glanced over. The text read: Look out the window.

 

He swiveled his chair to see Derek’s apologetic face.

 

“It’s unlocked,” he said, and waited while Derek slid the window open and eased himself inside. Jesus, how did he make something like that look graceful? “How did it go?”

 

Derek groaned and went to Stiles, who stood in time to receive his hug. Derek gave the best hugs, bar none. Stiles got the feeling, however, that it wasn’t from an overabundance of practice.

 

“It’s not over yet. Why weren’t you at the meeting?”

 

Stiles tried to keep his voice light. “I’m not pack.”

 

“The hell you’re not,” Derek growled and yeah, that definitely should not be hot. And yet. “You’re coming to the next one.”

 

“What if I have a dire emergency?” Derek didn’t rise to the bait, huffing out an impatient breath that stirred Stiles’ hair. “What happened, anyway?”

 

“Isaac’s dad locked him in a cement freezer in the basement. Isaac asked for the bite so he could kill him.”

 

“ _What?_ Are you serious? You can’t just say something like that!”

 

“I know, I know,” Derek said distractedly, scraping his stubble across Stiles’ cheek as he nuzzled him. He had yet to unwrap his arms from around Stiles, who wasn’t exactly complaining, but he sort of wanted to sit down.

 

He got them arranged in a pile of limbs on the bed, before asking. “Did you see Kate?”

 

Derek tensed up all over. “Yes.”

 

Stiles stroked one finger down Derek’s spine until the other shivered. “Tell me.”

 

“I wish I could hate her.” Derek stared at the ceiling, unseeing. “But she was the first person to tell me she loved me. And she was older. Only now do I see that that should have been a warning sign.”

 

“Hindsight’s 20-20,” Stiles agreed.

 

Derek frowned. “Sorry, you’re not supposed to talk about this kind of thing, right? Old flames and all that?”

 

Stiles snorted. “Old flames? What are you, ninety?”

 

Derek winced, and Stiles knew he had made a misstep. “I’m not fifteen, Derek.”

 

“But is this really any better?”

 

“ _Yes_ , of course it is! I’m an adult. Do you really think I do a single thing that I don’t want to?”

 

But Derek was hesitating. “Derek,” Stiles said testily. “I swear if you don’t say something right now, I will give you cramps. I can do that, you know.”

 

“Please don’t give me cramps?”

 

Stiles sighed. “If this stuff really bothers you- look, do you want to take a break or something? Until I graduate, maybe? It would be a wrench for me, but I can always jerk off thinking about you and not feel guilty.”

 

Derek made a punched-out noise and took Stiles’ hand. “Do you want to take a break?”

 

“ _God_ no! I was hoping you were going to say no!”

 

“I don’t want to either,” Derek confessed.

 

Stiles heaved a dramatic sigh. “Then come here and stop worrying, you big baby. If everyone knew how insecure you really are they’d be shocked.”

 

“You always know just what to say,” Derek said drily.

 

“Then shut me up by making out with my face. I’d say you have a couple of hours until your troubles will want you back.”

 

\---

 

**> Who’s Derek and why’s he been**

**at my house all day yelling at dad+Kate?**

 

Allison played unenthusiastically with her food while she waited for Scott’s reply.

 

**> Who’s Derek?**

 

She gripped her fork tightly.

 

**> Don’t play dumb with me McCall. **

**> He called me ‘Scott’s friend’.**

**> Explain.**

**> Um, I haven’t told him we’re dating yet?**

**> Sorry. :P**

**> Don’t. Dad said something **

**about someone being killed???**

**> What the fuck????**

**> What do you know about that?**

**> Listen, you really need to ask your dad**

**about this stuff.**

**> If I tell you something he doesn’t want you **

**to know, I could get in actual, serious trouble.**

 

Allison gritted her teeth.

 

**> Feel free to consider yourself already **

**in trouble.**

 

Allison turned her phone off as soon as she hit send. She didn’t want Scott calling her right now. She wanted answers.

 

Kate was watching her sardonically. “You father lets you text during dinner? I’m shocked.”

 

“No, he doesn’t,” Allison said, viciously stabbing her food, “But dad’s not here right now, is he?” He was, in point of fact, locked in his office at that moment with the mysterious Derek.

 

As Kate watched her, it occurred to Allison that her aunt might very well be able to tell her what was going on. “Who was that guy who was here earlier? I’ve seen him around before.”

 

“Who, Derek? He’s nobody.” Kate hid her smile in a glass of wine.

 

“It seemed like he knew you.”

 

“You could say that. We dated a few years back. I broke it off. It was messy.”

 

“Why’d you break up?” Allison asked, despite herself.

 

“We were incompatible.” Kate looked around before leaning forward. “Promise not to tell your dad what I’m going to tell you?”

 

“Promise,” Allison said, crossing her fingers under the table.

 

“Our family is special. Your dad and I do important work, you know that?”

 

Allison was skeptical. “Weapons dealing?”

 

“Not just dealing. Our ladies certainly know how to use them, you included, if I remember right.” Kate winked and Allison felt her stomach drop.

 

“What does this have to do with Derek?”

 

“His family were bad people,” Kate said quietly. “I got close to Derek to find out how to bring down his family.”

 

“Like a spy?”

 

“Yes, just like a spy.” Kate seemed pleased.

 

“Then why is Derek still walking free?” _And holy shit Scott, what kind of stuff have you gotten yourself into?_ Allison hadn’t forgotten Scott’s FBI father, his uncertainty as to whether of not his dad would approve of the things he had seen.

 

Kate hummed as the traced a finger around the rim of her glass. “I guess I had a soft spot for him, after all.”

 

\---

 

For the first time since moving to Beacon Hills, Allison unpacked her bow and arrows. Weighing her quiver in one hand, she texted Lydia.

 

**> Feel like taking a walk with me?**

**I need to blow off some steam.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's about to go sideways. D:


	12. Chapter 12

“Prada is perfectly fine, Stiles. She doesn’t need a vet.”

 

“Being a vet is just his day job.”

 

Lydia made a face. “Are you trying to sell me drugs?”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Just come inside, okay? Haven’t you been wanting answers?”

 

That silenced Lydia. She followed Stiles inside the clinic and he led her to the back room, where Deaton was waiting.

 

He held out a hand. “Ms. Martin, I presume?”

 

“What’s this about?”

 

“I’m sure you’re aware of all of the strange things that have been happening around Beacon Hills lately, not least of which were the visions you had begun seeing and the attack you experienced a short while ago?”

 

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”

 

“How open are you to accepting answers beyond what you believe to be possible?”

 

“You mean how willing am I to change my beliefs?” Lydia frowned. Stiles watched her nervously. “That depends on what proof I’m offered.”

 

“What about magic?”

 

A smile tugged at the corner of Lydia’s mouth. “I see you’re offering me something far-fetched to make your real explanation seem more creditable.”

 

“No really,” Stiles blurted, unable to contain himself any longer. Lydia flicked him a look, disappointed.

 

“I thought you were serious when you said you had answers.”

 

“Think about it, Lydia,” Stiles said urgently. “None of the stuff that’s been happening makes any sense. You’re smart, you must realize that there’s something you don’t know about that unlocks everything and ties it all together.”

 

“Life is rarely that simple,” Lydia said scathingly.

 

“Magic is anything but simple.” Deaton held out a hand. “Would you like some proof?”

 

Lydia didn’t reply, tight-lipped. Deaton concentrated and his outstretched hand began to glow. When the light faded, Stiles was left blinking to try and rid his vision of the residual yellowish spots.

 

“That wasn’t very convincing,” Lydia said, but her hands were clenched.

 

“Then how about this?” Stiles dug in his pocket, pulling out an eraser. He performed the same hovering trick as he had used for Scott, and Lydia made the same inspections as he had, taking her time. Stiles made the eraser gently bob in the air a couple of times before letting it fall and catching it.

 

Lydia looked at Deaton. “Okay.”

 

“That’s it?” Stiles asked.

 

Lydia shrugged. “It’s proof enough for me to admit that there are things I can’t explain. Jury’s still out on it being magic or something else, but you have my attention.”

 

“Scott’s a werewolf.”

 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Lydia looked back and forth between Stiles and Deaton. “So are you going to teach me? You can’t just tell me magic is real without expecting me to want to learn more about it.”

 

Deaton cleared his throat. “There are some things we can teach you, but I don’t think you’ll be able to actually do any spells.”

 

Lydia’s face clouded. “Bullshit,” she said angrily. “If I can’t duplicate your results-” But Deaton held up a hand to stop her.

 

“It’s not that simple. Stiles and I can use magic because we’re witches. But inviting magic to live inside you, becoming a conductor for it, that takes a toll on your system, changes you. Few people are up to it.”

 

“And you think I’m not?”

 

Deaton gave Lydia a level look. “I don’t think it’s a question of that. As far as I know, only humans can become witches, and from what Stiles had told me about you, I’m not entirely sure you’re human.”

 

Stiles groaned as Lydia whirled on him. “One normal friend,” he muttered. “That’s all I want. Just one normal friend.”

 

“You told him that?” Lydia demanded.

 

“Not in so many words,” Deaton cut in. “What interested me in Stiles’ stories was your attack.” Lydia looked back at him, apprehension all over her face. “Tell me about it.”

 

\---

 

Kate had been working very carefully on her niece. A little cajoling, a few well-placed comments when Chris wasn’t around.

 

Finally, Allison was flat-out begging to be involved.

 

“I know you’re gonna try to bring down Derek. _Please_ let me help. I want to be a part of what our family does.”

 

It was almost too easy. Kate filled Allison in on the essential details. They set their date for next Saturday. Allison would be her backup only, and would obey everything Kate said.

 

Kate had been watching Derek’s house carefully. She knew there was another boy living there, and several others who often dropped by. Derek’s pack. No matter, she could tailor a spell to knock out humans and werewolves alike. If all went off without a hitch, Derek would go the way of his family, leaving Kate free to pick off the rest of his pack at her leisure.

She almost regretted having to take out Derek. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but their brief dalliance back in the day had been fun. Derek had _adored_ her. But it couldn’t be helped. Barely three weeks into his alphahood and he was already gathering a following. Damn that Hale charisma. His mother had had it too. Far too dangerous. If Derek decided to take up Talia’s mission of unifying certain key wolf packs- Kate shuddered. Best to prevent that kind of thing. Less of a headache for everyone. And anyway, it wasn’t as if she could feel _too_ bad for Derek. For all that he was the most civilized monster she’d ever met, he would never fit in with human society, would never be good enough to walk among them. It was in his nature to be vicious, and therefore he could never fully be trusted.

 

Kate idled by the fireplace, staring at one of the candles that adorned the mantle. With a flicker of will, a tiny flame licked into existence, settling and blazing pale. She smiled, satisfied. _Still got it._

 

\---

 

Allison crept after Kate, arrow knocked and pointed at the ground, ready for any kind of threat.

 

Kate was picking the lock on the door. Allison privately reflected that the house looked unstable enough that they could have probably kicked through the door with more ease. But this was quieter. Kate wouldn’t want to wake up the people inside.

 

As they crossed the threshold, Allison felt a curious shiver of power, like something had passed close by her. She paid it no mind, however. Kate was peering up the rickety stairs, one foot on the bottommost one, when Allison spoke.

 

“Turn around.”

 

Kate flapped a hand at Allison, hissing, “ _Keep your voice down._ ”

 

“I said,” And Allison moved to aim her arrow directly between Kate’s shoulder blades, “Turn around. Slowly.”

 

Kate half-turned, impatient. She froze. “What are you doing?” She whispered.

 

“You can come out now,” Allison said loudly. But no one appeared.

 

“No one’s coming,” Kate said, and now she wasn’t bothering to keep her voice down. She was regarding Allison coolly. “You intended to double-cross me?”

 

Allison’s arrow was still trained on Kate’s heart, unwavering. “I went to Scott. He told me a couple of things you failed to mention. Like how Derek is really Derek Hale, whose family all burned to death the same week our family pulled up stakes and moved out of California.” Allison’s fingers tensed on her bowstring. “Care to explain?”

 

Kate seemed suspiciously calm. “You don’t understand what’s going on. Derek’s-”

 

“A werewolf? I know.” And now Kate looked surprised. “I didn’t believe it when Scott told me at first, but he brought me to Derek and they showed me. They told me everything, which is more than I can say for you. Does dad even know we’re here?”

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Kate had regained her composure. “We won’t need backup. Every human and monster in this house is going to stay asleep until I decide otherwise. Now why don’t you stop pretending you’re going to shoot me and lower your weapon before I decide that you’re serious about betraying our family.”

 

Allison lowered her bow and quicker than Kate could have followed, loosed an arrow. It stuck through Kate’s shoe and buried itself in the floor, pinning her to the spot and _probably_ missing her toes. To her credit, Kate didn’t cry out, but she did snarl as Allison knocked another arrow.

 

“You have no idea what these _things_ are like.”

 

Allison shrugged. “I know Scott. And I’d rather put a few holes in you than have you put a few in him.”

 

“I wasn’t going to touch your boyfriend.”

 

“You would have.” Allison regarded Kate calmly. “Scott doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to be an alpha. You only have to see the way he talks to Derek to know that he’s not going to be content serving under someone else. And neither am I. Now tell me why no one is coming.”

 

“It’s a spell.”

 

Kate visibly stiffened. Allison raised her head, keeping her arrow trained on Kate. “Took you long enough.”

 

Stiles shrugged, his grip tightening on the bat he held. “I couldn’t wake Derek up. It’s a spell, isn’t it? Which means you’re a witch.”

 

Kate pivoted, foot still pinned. “You’re a human,” she breathed. “How did you slip through?”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I keep telling people. I’m _not_ a human. Which I guess means your spell wasn’t good enough.” He descended a couple of stairs.

 

Without warning, Kate pulled her foot loose from her shoe and turned, raising a hand and blasting Stiles backward. Allison let loose an arrow, but missed as Kate darted up the stairs. Stiles swung his bat wildly and managed to trip Kate up, sending her reeling back a step. The infirm wood groaned beneath her foot and then gave, sending her crashing down in an avalanche of splinters.

 

\---

 

Derek came to, instantly alert. He could hear people stirring downstairs, and he was out on the landing in seconds, heart hammering. Kate was stirring feebly in the wreckage of what looked like half the staircase, and Stiles was crawling down backwards on his hands and knees.

 

“I think she got knocked out for a second,” Allison was saying, and Stiles knelt beside Kate with a look of intense concentration.

 

Allison was the first to notice Derek, Stiles not even turning as he jumped, catlike, from landing to floor, not bothering with the stairs. “So turns out my aunt is a witch,” she said calmly. Derek noticed that she had an arrow trained on Kate. “Stiles is holding her.”

 

“Binding spell,” Stiles gritted out. “But if you could tie her up like _now_ , that would be awesome. She’s fighting like a motherfucker.”

 

Derek took one look at Kate and picked her up, pinning her arms to her sides. She was glaring, and Derek could feel the muscles in her arms twitching. Allison ran to fetch a chair, and within minutes, Kate was bound.

 

Kate was focusing on Allison. “You don’t know what these people have done,” she hissed.

 

Allison shrugged. “They were pretty up-front with me, which is more than I can say about you. They told me about Peter and Isaac’s dad but at least none of them _burned eleven people to death in their own house._ ” She gave Kate a level look.

 

“You told them we were coming.”

 

“Well, yeah. I told Scott and he told Derek, and we all sat down and hashed things out.”

 

“What I don’t get,” Derek interrupted, “Is why now? Were you really that upset about Isaac’s dad?”

 

Kate tilted her head, craning her neck. “For the same reason as your mother. You’re just too damn influential.”

 

But Derek just frowned at her. “That doesn’t make any sense. You brother said that before she died, my mom was talking about making peace with hunters.”

 

Stiles’ eyes were flicking back and forth between Kate and Derek, and he put a hand on the latter’s arm. “Maybe Kate didn’t know-?”

 

But Derek shrugged Stiles off, staring. Kate had tilted her head so her hair covered most of her face. Derek’s mind was whirling. It wasn’t possible. “You knew,” he said slowly. “My god, do you really hate us that much?”

 

Kate looked up at that, and there was malice in her eyes. “You’re all monsters,” she said quietly. “The fact that my father and brother seemed to be _forgetting_ that, seemed to be forgetting what we were and what we stand for- I couldn’t stand it. I had to fix it, even if I had to play the bad guy.”

 

Stiles made a questioning noise and Kate fixed her eyes on him, appealing to him. “Wolves are violent. They don’t know any other way to be. They’re territorial _animals_ , and with too many of them under united under Talia, us normal people wouldn’t have stood a chance. _Especially_ if the hunters had agreed to a truce. It would have been like granting them carte blanche to strike against us without giving us enough warning to defend ourselves.”

 

Now Stiles looked horrified. “My mother was Talia’s emissary,” he whispered.

 

Kate looked taken aback. “Claudia had a son?”

 

“She knew what you were planning, didn’t she? Deaton said that all the witches in the area came to my mom for advice. What, did you approach her before you realized who she was to Derek’s mom?” Stiles was shaking now. “You’re a witch. You could probably fake a degenerative condition, right? Your magic is all about destruction and consumption, right?”

 

Stiles’ breath was coming in gasps now, and eddies began to swirl around him, picking up dust and splinters that the others had to squint against. He bent over as the winds began to pick up, hurling the edges of hair and clothes, scraping Kate’s chair back until it toppled over, bearing her helplessly to the floor.

 

Derek had to fight his way through the gale, yelling at Allison to get back. He could hear windowpanes shattering, and was fearful of broken glass being added to the mix. As he struggled forward, nails popped out of boards, ripping up the floor. Eddies of ash, long since ground into the cracks, stained the whirling cage gray as the ghost of smoke.

 

“Stiles!” Derek shouted. He fought his way forward, wincing as splinters grazed his outstretched hand. He grabbed Stiles’ arm, but it wasn’t enough. He needed skin contact, needed to get him to focus. He shoved his way into the center of the storm and butted his forehead up against Stiles’.

 

He had to feed him calmness. It seemed like the furthest thing from him at the moment, but he had to try.

 

He thought fiercely of getting out of here, of greeting his pack; of playing with his cousins in the woods, laughing and running, sometimes as wolves, sometimes as kids; of his mom’s friend bringing her baby over for everyone to coo at and play with; of Erica laughing at Scott’s early bankruptcy in a game of monopoly; of the way Stiles looked when he was just waking up, all dopey and sleepy-happy to see Derek. He filled himself up with good memories as he gripped the back of Stiles’ neck, as the wind raged around them.

 

Presently, the pressure lessened, Stiles was heaving ragged breaths, his face wet with tears. Derek rubbed Stiles’ back as splinters of wood and fragments of iron and glass pattered down around them. Stiles was moaning and rocking back and forth and Derek held him.

 

He heard a creak behind him and froze, muscles locked in place against his will. Stiles was equally still.

 

Kate, her ropes no doubt worked free by Stiles’ gale, came into view. “Now, Allison.” She said. She was fighting to form words. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead from the exertion of keeping Derek and Stiles immobile. “Do it. You’ve seen what they can do.”

 

There was no answer, and Kate looked up, annoyance morphing to surprise. “What-?”

 

But she never finished the question. Derek blinked, and saw the shaft of an arrow protruding from between Kate’s ribs. She gave a sort of gurgle and collapsed.

 

Derek felt her hold on him fall away as if it had never been. Still cradling Stiles, he turned. Allison had a hand pressed to her mouth, eyes wide. As he watched, she dropped her bow and sank to her knees.

 

Derek got up, scooping Stiles along with him, and knelt to wrap his other arm around Allison. She buried her face in his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D: Yikes. (And remember folks, a corpse ain't a corpse until you see it for yourself, and even then.... some Supernatural bullshit.....) There's one chapter left after this one!! An enormous THANK YOU to all of you for sticking it out for this long!! (I hope the ending will meet with your satisfaction. '~')
> 
> And to all those who have been commenting... baby if you only saw what I could see you'd understand why I want you so desperately~ ;)
> 
> But really, you're all so beautiful. <3


	13. Chapter 13

“Kate’s going to make it.”

 

Those were the first words Allison was aware of her father saying. He had called her into his office what felt like hours ago, but in reality had probably only been a few minutes ago. There she had sat in silence, utterly disgraced and feeling teary again.

 

“I’m glad,” she mumbled. Once she opened her, mouth, however, she could no longer bite back the flood of words. “Dad, what the hell does our family do? Kate killed Derek Hale’s family and I almost killed Kate. Is this normal?”

 

Her father chose not to answer. “You most likely won’t be seeing your aunt for a while. I think it would be best for everyone if we leave Beacon Hills.”

 

Allison stood up so fast her chair fell backwards, the bang muffled by the carpeting. “No.”

 

“This isn’t your decision, and after the trouble you caused-”

 

“The trouble _I_ caused?” Allison voice rose. “What about the trouble _you_ caused by not telling me anything? By inviting Kate here?”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her father was stony-faced.

 

“You’re wrong. But if I knew more, I’d be less likely to get in over my head, next time.”

 

“There won’t be a next time.”

 

“Oh yeah? You’re going to give up fighting monsters? Gonna settle down and be the supportive father I always needed? Go to my back-to-school nights and come touring colleges with me?”

 

And there was the flicker of guilt Allison had been looking for. “Sweetie-”

 

“For once, pretend that you care about me more than all of this stuff. Don’t make us move again. I can give you a dozen reasons, but I’m not going to beg. I’m just going to ask. Please.”

 

Her father was quiet for several minutes. Allison waited him out, righting her chair and sitting, arms crossed.

 

“If we stay, that boyfriend of yours is coming to dinner,” he said finally. “And there are a few things you should know about Beacon Hills.”

 

\---

 

“I can’t believe you’re a furry.”

 

Erica rolled over on her back. “Werewolf. _I_ can’t believe I never realized you’re a screamer.”

 

“ _Banshee_. I don’t scream.”

 

Erica smirked. “Oh _we’ll_ see.”

 

“Is that a promise?”

 

Erica sat up and looked at Lydia, sprawled across her bedspread. “Do you like me?”

 

Lydia gave her a funny look. “Yes, of course.”

 

“No, like _like_ -like.”

 

“Saying the same word over and over isn’t going to change my answer.”

 

“Do you like me like I like you?” Softly spoken was Erica’s confession.

 

Lydia’s eyes widened and she made a grab for Erica’s hand. “Oh god, yeah. Are we gonna do this?”

 

“If any among us have any objections,” Erica murmured.

 

“No objections,” Lydia said, brushing Erica’s hair out of her face. “Now hurry up and kiss me.”

 

\---

 

Stiles looked around appreciatively, settling back against Derek. “I like the new place.”

 

“Oh that reminds me, I have something for you.” Derek fished around in his pocket before holding out a hand for one of Stiles’. With great ceremony, he pressed something into his palm.

 

“Why mister Hale,” Stiles drawled. “A key to your loft? _Scandalous_. What kind of guy do you take me for?”

 

“Everyone else in the pack is getting one, too.”

 

Stiles pouted. “Spoil-sport.”

 

“It’s important. What if there’s an emergency and they need to reach me?”

 

“What if we’re having sex, though? That takes precedence over emergencies, I think.”

 

Derek shrugged. “There are going to be more emergencies.”

 

Stiles’ expression turned somber. “I know.” He tossed the key back and forth between his hands. “I’ve been meaning to ask you; you sniffed out immediately that I was a witch. Why didn’t you suss Kate the same way?”

 

“I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess she just smelled the way she always had, and that was disturbing enough that I didn’t want to examine it too closely.”

 

Stiles nodded, running a thumb across the teeth of the key. “Deaton’s training me to do druid things. It makes the most sense for me to specialize, considering how my life has been lousy with werewolves lately. But I still want to study other stuff. I wonder if I can hook up with a local coven when I go away to college or something.”

 

Derek stirred. “That’s… good.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, big guy. I’m coming back. Whenever I can for breaks, or sooner if you really need me. But Talia Hale’s son deserves the best, and I’m not that yet.”

 

“You mean-”

 

“Oh yeah,” Stiles said, twisting around to put his arms around Derek’s neck, “Emissary. For your pack.”

 

Derek swallowed, surprised by how the words moved him. “I talked to Chris Argent,” he said. “Kate’s alive, and since they can’t risk banishing her, they’re keeping her on a tight leash, far away from Beacon Hills. Argent said he was thinking of pulling up stakes.”

 

“That’s what you wanted, right?”

 

“What I wanted was to be sure that Kate couldn’t just walk back into my life and ruin everything.” Derek’s hands crept down to Stiles’ hips and rested there, barely squeezing.

 

“Been there, done that.”

 

“Exactly. So I was thinking… my mom wanted to make peace with the hunters. It could get me into a lot of shit with a couple of other packs who are really anti-hunter. They’ll probably say I’m an insult to my mother’s memory for not killing Kate and fight me in her name. It could get ugly.”

 

“ _But?_ ”

 

“But I want to try it. A truce.”

 

Stiles hummed. “It’ll be tough, but once you and the pack waste the first couple of losers who try to start shit, maybe some of the others will think twice.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Stiles pulled back a little to study Derek. “This is important to you.”

 

“It’s what my mom wanted, so yeah, it is.” Derek reached up and took Stiles’ hand. “But there are other things that are important to me, too.”

 

\---

 

Isaac looked around his new room. Derek’s old place had never felt real to him, with its ghost walls and ghost voices. In the time he had spent there, he had lived out of a single bag, carefully refolding and repacking clothes after each wash, prepared at any minute to make a break for it.

 

Consequently, he didn’t have much in the way of worldly possessions. Maybe he’d ask Scott to come back to his old house with him to get one or two things, but even there he had never relied too much on being allowed to keep things.

 

He set his bag on the bed and crossed over to the dresser. Derek must have picked it out. It was dark wood, like the rest of the furniture.

 

Isaac opened a drawer and with some hesitation, began filling it with his clothes.

 

\---

 

Boyd rested his head in his hands. Since the bite, it wasn’t like people at school had started going out of their way to say hi to him; but there were a few smiles where people usually pretended not to see him, and when he raised his hand in class, sometimes he actually got picked.

 

Derek found him in the woods. He supposed Derek could have tracked him there, but when he arrived, he had looked around in surprise.   


“I remember this place. We used to build forts here, right?”

 

Boyd nodded.

 

“Reliving the glory days?”

 

Boyd shrugged. “Something like that.” He turned to look at Derek. “Before, I would have said that I could pick up roots and just leave this place. No one would notice me go. I never really felt like I belonged here. All my memories are here, but they never really felt like mine. I just sort of… skimmed the surface.”

 

Derek shrugged. “You’re part of something bigger now. You chose to be a part of this world.”

 

Boyd nodded. “I think that makes the difference,” he said. “ _I_ chose it.”

 

Derek tossed something through the air, and Boyd caught it. He turned the key over in his fingers.

 

“For our new fort,” Derek said. “So you can come and go as you please.”

 

Boyd gave him a flicker of a smile. “Thank you.”

 

\---

 

Scott wore a look of intense concentration, swearing softly as he veered off the edge of Rainbow Road for the fifth or sixth time.

 

Stiles, who had finished the course _ages_ ago, was dicking around on his computer, waiting for Scott. His ipod was on shuffle, gently serenading them with a mixture of classic rock and Beyoncé. Stiles’ taste had always been eclectic at best.

 

It’s only when Scott gave up and let the game sort him into last place that he realized what song is playing.

 

“Well, Scotty? What do you say?” Stiles was grinning at him. “ _Do_ , you believe in magic?”

 

Scott couldn’t help but smile back. “You could say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAND THERE WE HAVE IT. (Anyone notice that I left it open for a sequel? No guarantees, but just in case I have a burning need.....)
> 
> Thank you so so so much to all of you beautiful people for sticking it out!! Thank you for your kind words and support. I hope I did right by you. I'm actually planning another Teen Wolf fic because I reread Play Crack the Sky and decided I wanted to try my hand at angst.... like actual angst..... it may not be up for a while because I want to write the whole thing and post it all at once, but there you go. :P
> 
> I started rewatching episodes from season one of TW, actually. It's a trip. The characters really changed since then, and I forgot basically everything that happens. And I actually hadn't watched ANY of the show in years, soooo that mostly accounts for my gung-ho, devil-may-care attitude toward canon. But also the fatc that watching Teen Wolf is like watching a 45 minute shitpost so. 
> 
> Anyway. Thank you thank you thank you again for making it through this with me!! It's been an absolute pleasure. If you want, come and say hi to me on tumblr (quasi-birdpeople.tumblr.com) (If someone knows how to put links in these end notes, please tell me. I'm technologically deficient. '~') 
> 
> Be excellent to each other! And rock on!


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